


Pale

by smear



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Pale, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 15:47:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2553038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smear/pseuds/smear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't like they were draped over each other and just as pale as bones bleached in the sun, just waiting to be ground into stardust.</p><p>((writing with Chelsea @ squeekiedeekie.tumblr.com!! please read the beginning notes :] ))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yes, hello!! this is my- favorite rp. it started when i answered squeek's amazing prompt on cherubplay, and has just been going since.  
> squeek was chill with me posting it here, so here we are!
> 
> anyway, some info. its an au where kanaya's a human, so there's that.  
> also since this is an rp its going to read like one, turn by turn kind of thing.  
> squeek wrote kurloz, i wrote kanaya. (i formatted it so our posts would be colored but apparently ao3 doesnt like that)  
> were still playing this so i might update this every few posts or something.  
> we're starting a follow up too, oh man
> 
> again pleaaase go squeek some love <3 --> squeekiedeekie.tumblr.com

This was wrong. This was wrong and bad and he should know because he'd done plenty of bad, wrong things in his short span of life and infinitesimally longer span of afterlife. Maybe this wasn't the absolute most awful thing he'd found himself doing, but it was up there. After all, he already had a moirail. Granted, their arrangement wasn't exactly ideal what with said moirail's inclination to generally show disdain for paps that were meant to soothe. Really, Kurloz had no room to cite anyone else as being a bad palemate seeing how he couldn't even shoosh anymore, and he /wasn't/ trying to call anyone a bad palemate, it was just... He found himself looking at someone else that way; found himself wanting a new moirail.    


For all the awful shit he'd managed to do, he'd at least always been able to call himself faithful in all things. He was faithful to his most Mirthful of Lords unto his dying breath and beyond, he was faithful to his matesprit until the termination of their arrangement, and he'd been faithful to his dear moirail for a long, long time. Since the very first day they'd joined together as diamonds he'd been faithful, but now? Now he was looking elsewhere for a soul who could be by his side to offer solace in trying times. Now he wanted so dearly to be able to help someone else through their own tribulations every step of the way and it was sickening. Why couldn't it have been a pitch crush? He knew how to handle those... Not anything like the crush he was in the midst of now, getting his motherfuckin chill all in a ruffle over.    


He was getting ready to call it quits forever, pray for the strength to not be an awful piece of trash who had wandering eyes, but he'd find those damned eyes wandering once more, resting upon the target of his awful affections. He'd never wanted to hold a hand or ruffle some hair more than he did right then--and he also had never wanted the blessed Angel of Double Death to come by more than right then because if he didn't keep his paint on the up-and-up, he would've definitely been showing a blush at the thought. Maybe if he was lucky, they wouldn't think that all the smiling in their direction he found himself doing was creepy. Or maybe they wouldn't notice him at all. He couldn't say he didn't hope for that at all.   


It was at that moment that miss Kanaya Maryam was fumbling around with her own little sewing project, her eyes and hands busy pinning up and stringing the material. It was damn shreddy too, giving her an awful time. She pricked her finger as she tried to get the needle into the thick, blue fabric. Ugh! This was not working out. Her general means of stress relief was only stressing her out that much more.    


Kanaya lets out a defeated sigh as she sets, almost tossing, the mess to her side. She sits back, looking up. Pondering. Pondering what exactly? Oh, whatever it is that a Kanaya would ponder. Probably how she would manage to calm down or find something else to do. Right before she was about to get up, she looks over to her side - wait. What? Why was this - mime? Why was he looking at her? And that smile. It was a little unsettling - if not cute.    


Kanaya clears her throat before speaking up, “Pardon me, is there something I could assist you with?” She asks, clutching her things before she gets up.   


This human, Kanaya if his ability to pick out names from conversations he wasn't involved in served him well, was something special, wasn't she? He'd seen her before, noticed that flair in the way she dressed each and every time, but it was only just now really resonating that said flair was born of pinpricks and toil. He had respect for that. After all, his most... /Known/ sewing endeavor hadn't been his first. He knew the trouble that went into crafting beautiful things out of base materials. Sharing interests wasn't exactly helping him to quiet his unwanted thoughts in the slightest. No, now the possibility of the two being able to spend time in one another's company, telling of favorite projects, making sure no one sewed so long as to make fingers sore, massaging said fingers if fatigue times were miscalculated--    


Kurloz was startled slightly by the sound of her clearing her throat. He really needed to not let himself get lost in thought like that while he was around anybody else. Especially not when the thoughts he found himself lost in were stupid as could be. Stupid and uncalled for and he silently had to thank the Mirthful Lord for requiring the faithful to wear face paint because he knew he'd be showing colors underneath it that he ought not. He would've had more to be thankful for if he didn't feel warm enough to pass for a jadeblood, maybe even an oliveblood, but by the by. It wasn't like she would know that.    


He'd be hasty in signing his apologies and subsequent insistence that no, of course there was nothing that she could do for him. Too hasty, as he was fairly sure he'd went so far as to mess a sign up. That wasn't even right. It wasn't even a matter of bragging when the overwhelming thought that he /never/ messed up signs would flood his thinkpan. Never. Not a once since he'd become fluent had he messed up. It didn't happen. Wasn't even a thing. And if he had signed it quick enough as to fuck it up, he knew he was signing far faster than he normally would with those whom he wasn't even sure /knew/ any signs. This really wasn't his day. At all. If there was a nonchalant way to run away and never be seen again, he'd be all over that.   


Kanaya watched as he stood there for a moment - how curious. He seemed not to even notice that she was standing up at that point. Then again, he had looked like he was lost in thought or something of the sort. Maybe Kanaya had disturbed the better part of a reverie.. She’d certainly feel awful if that was the case. Whatever it was, it sure seemed to have this guy flustered up something awful when she finally spoke.    


Wait, now what was this? Signs... signs? Kanaya was looking at his hands as they twitched about, moving far too fast for her to discern what he might be saying even if she happened to know any of them. Was he okay, did he need help? Kanaya fumbled to get a grasp back on her materials when she lost her grip getting up. Gosh, how was she supposed to approach someone in such a tizzy. 

After another second of watching Kurloz, was it? Trip over his /words/, Kanaya walked over to him. She thought that to be that best thing she could do in this situation. “I am sorry if I caused such a comeuppance.” She stated, impulsively taking one of his hands in her own, maybe to calm him. “Are you alright?” She asks, cocking her head a bit.   


Oh fuck. Oh damn. Oh fucking motherfuckin damn. He was carrying on like an idiot to the extent of rousing actual /concern/ now. He usually did so well to walk that line between being blatantly ignored and concern over whether blatantly ignoring him was a good idea. At no point did that involve him getting thrown off his motherfuckin chill. Or concern over lack of concern morph into actual concern over whatever it was that he was doing at the time. This was new and he wasn't fully certain as to what to do with it. Which was unfortunately apparently rather obvious.    


Any and all attempts to even begin to piece together this train wreck of a social interaction would be put to a screeching halt when she grabbed his hand. Had it been anyone save for his former matesprit or his current moirail, neither of which would have actually touched one of his hands in the first place, he would've given in to the knee-jerk reaction of pulling away. Or so he thought. Apparently this girl was also a notable exception to the base reaction to not let just anybody mess with his means of communication. He could try to believe that not retracting his hand was due to knowing on a subconscious level that a human wouldn't be so capable of marring anything or that chucklevoodoo could continue to serve as a communications link if all else failed, but that wasn't the case and he knew it. He didn't pull away like any sound-minded individual would have because he straight up didn't really want to.    


He shouldn't have been soothed by the gesture in the slightest, but logic had apparently died long ago. He was regaining his sense of calm even if it was equal parts calm and shame. Or maybe a little heavy on the shame. He was just calmed by somebody who wasn't his moirail and he couldn't say in truth that he'd hated it. Maybe he was hating himself a little right then, but that wasn't Kanaya's fault.    


Her question had been a simple one that required no elaborate sign to give answer to. Really, he could've gotten away with a simple nod sans sign, but he needed to regain some face, show that he could and wasn't completely useless. He'd put the haste and near-frenzied vehemence on a backburner, give a nod to answer affirmatively to being fine whilst throwing in the sign to match the claim with his his free hand. Maybe it was somewhere closer to one-eighteenths calm and the rest being shame. He wasn't even going to be the one to pull away first, was he?

 

And Kanaya had no idea that all of these thoughts were going through his head. She saw how his expression would change a bit, of the way he just kind of - froze when she took his hand. Shit. That was probably a bad move. She didn’t even know this person. This troll. Was taking ones hand a rude thing to do in troll culture? Especially one who uses them as their main means of communication? She just stood there, looking at him until he would answer her.    


Alright - a nod. A nod is good. And - his hand? He didn’t seem to be moving his hand from her when answering her question. Hell, he even used the other one to sign to her. She thickly swallows, a light blush coming to her face when she becomes a bit flustered, and that was probably from her own cluelessness. She didn’t really know at this point.    


But she didn’t let go. God, why didn’t she want to let his hand go? Her fingers flinched a bit when she thought of releasing it, but they just wouldn’t really move much in the way of that thought. In fact, she might have even firmed her hold. Wait. Wait, no, why would you do that Kanaya, come on. Social interaction was something that she was bad enough at to say the least. Damn, if she’d been talking more at this point she probably would have gone on a mad ramble.    


Shit, shit. And without fail, there it was. She takes a deep breath, freezing in place. And. After a moment. “Oh my goodness I am so sorry, I hope this isn’t rude of me. For all I know you didn’t even need help or were looking at something completely different, it was silly of me to assume that you even wanted to converse with me or anything of the sort.” All at once the pile of soundwaves just fell from her mouth. She took a moment to breathe, about to speak again. Say more things Kanaya, say more things. Think, Think!   


Well. This was okay. This was fine. He wasn't going to panic like some little wriggler that didn't know what was what about any motherfucking thing. He could handle his hand being held for longer than was absofuckinglutely necessary. Even if that made him an infidelic piece of shit. Okay, no, that wasn't okay and fine. That was bad. More than a little but so at that.    


Yet he still wasn't moving his hand away none. None in the slightest. In that moment, it seemed like a reasonable thing to forsake using each and every last word that took more than one hand to sign. Just him and a near-stranger holding his hand for the rest of eternity until he made good on his admissions ticket to the Dark Carnival. Mirthful Lord's alive, he had a damn moirail. He could call out ignorance of importance on Kanaya's behalf. It would've been easier to do so if she had let go, but... But surely she didn't /know/ how palely forward this was. Holding hands wasn't the most inappropriate gesture that existed or anything, but it still wasn't the thing to do. They didn't share a quadrant at all, much less the right one; Kurloz didn't know if Kanaya had a moirail or whatever was comparable in human-type quadrants, but /he/ had a moirail; and then there was the whole part about barely being acquainted. Theirs was turning into a live-action version of one of those stories written by diamond-depraved weirdos. This stuff didn't happen to real people with real lives and afterlives.    


And here he was, only thrown off when Kanaya was starting to seem a little flustered for her own self. Telling of forgiveness would, of course, require both hands. She wasn't in the wrong! Well, maybe she was, but it was mostly his fault anyways. Or all his fault really. He wasn't going to throw the weight of the fault of his shoulders by casting off her hand any time soon though, but he really needed to do /something/. Kanaya hadn't been so cruel as to let him flounder on in his way, and it wouldn't be fair to not halt her troubles in return. Pulling away his hand could give the wrong idea, even if he signed only good things, right?    


So instead of making things worse by pulling away, he'd... Make things worse by putting his other hand on top of hers, hoping that'd console her as it'd consoled him. Why walk down a sinful path when you could sprint down that motherfucker instead? Fucking hell... But right then wasn't the time to dwell on poor choices. He'd do what he could to make sure her chill wasn't in any manner of jeopardy, and that'd be that. That was fine. That was just... Common decency? Oh fuck oh no oh shit he'd papped her hand that was a pap and he was a sinful piece of trash where the fuck did he go wrong? His ancestor would surely look upon him and weep from his heralded throne amongst believers who'd long since moved on.    


But he'd keep his expression in accordance with the thought he meant to convey, no hard feelings, no ill-will. Just a whole lot of fine, okay shit. Questions on why the ever-loving fuck he /wouldn't/ want to converse with her would just have to wait until he knew all was well or well-enough.   


After a few silent seconds passed, Kanaya was starting to feel a bit strange. Awkward. Her mind was admonishing her to let go of his hand if one more moment passed where nothing happened. After all, she couldn’t just stand there forever in a race to see who would decay first. Only then would one’s hand falter, and her ashes would eagerly flutter to the ground. Not that that was possible, she was the only living one taking part in this interaction. She would be the only one doing any manner of fading or dying in the near future. At least, she thinks that would be the case.   


And all those thoughts were within the single breath she took before she would continue her little speech, gushing on about how this was all one big misunderstanding on her part. Time moves so slowly when you are mortified. Pulling away wasn’t even an option at this point. It would only be a stomp to her good manners and an insulting affront to the situation. No. The battle.   


Wait. What was this new, sudden development? He put his other hand on hers.  She was certainly not expecting that by any means. And with their hands contiguous to one and others, oh god were they, Kanaya’s whole fluster seemed to halt right up and there. If only for a moment. His touch was - warm. It was comforting. Alright, woah. That was a strange thought, just then. The idea of even just finding this comforting was off putting in it’s own right. What exactly would admittance of any of these emotions mean? Not that any of this would point at some unconscious longing for some sort of companionship from a horned, painted up stranger.   


Right, that’s exactly what he was. A stranger. Why was Kanaya even trying to piece any of this together as some sort of advance? To make a big deal of it? Regardless, just the reaffirming of that fact made her cheeks ebullient with color, her words that she had planned up until this point all melting away again. Shit. “I - ah.” She says as a last defense, any hope of a final act of aplomb was washed away, back to her nonplussed box at square one. “Hmm.” She quietly hums to herself, accepting defeat.   


Defeat? No, not so soon. Maybe this wasn’t a duomachy like Kanaya’s mind had previously proclaimed it, but more of a... poetomachia, of the gestic variety. She’d kill him with kindness, if that was the only way not to lose such a fleeting war. She would return his warm expression with a sweet smile across her own countenance. Checkmate. 

 

It seemed that the two would be destined to stand unified yet separate for the rest of eternity until that final day when the wheat would be separated from the chaff and the faithful would rejoice forever and ever amen. He had already gone too far--there was probably no chance of ever being able to put these harbored fugitives he called feelings to rest. He almost wanted to just get both of his hands back and go on with trying to not notice her all the damn time, failing spectacularly of course, like he'd been content enough doing before.    


To Kurloz, this wasn't even in any way akin to a war or any other manner of one trying to best the other, one waiting for the other to give in. It was awkward, it was tense, that all stood to reason, but... Such thought trains of trying to hold out longer, trying to find victory within such seemingly trivial interactions was so much more tailored for kismetic thoughts. Thoughts that he straight up just wasn't thinking at all. In fact, were a near-miasma of uncertainty and self-loathe--situational loathe above all-- not so viciously flooding his 'pan, he could've stayed that way with no qualms whatsoever until the aforementioned final day. Her touch brought about an inner peace that he didn't realize he didn't have, even /with/ all that disquieted thinking he was working on that was trying to overrule it all.    


It really wasn't even fair. Why'd she have to smile like that, make him feel like maybe he /wasn't/ completely in the wrong on this? Granted, he wasn't exactly hoping to be looked at like he was as vile as he felt-- or as vile as he should've been feeling anyway, but still. It didn't even seem like her smile was feigned. Didn't look like something done completely and totally out of lack of anything else to do in such silence that should've been uncomfortable and nothing else.    


Was this even what pale was supposed to feel like? No, that couldn't be right. He'd felt pale once--still did, /still/ did-- and this wasn't the same. He hadn't felt this vexed and flustered even when the question of moirallegiance between he and Mituna had hung heavy in the air in the moment it hadn't yet been affirmatively answered. He refused to entertain the thought that, by the same logic, he'd neither felt so... /Smitten/ was far too dramatic a word for what foolishness this was, and he refused to think in those terms either. This wasn't pale, this wasn't unfaithful, this wasn't even a motherfuckin thing. He was probably just ill with something was all. Even in death, that kind of shit could happen and linger. Highs, sweat, tears, pain, and certainly whatever feverish tragicomedy that masqueraded as true pale could still happen. Were his lips not held closed by thread and oath, the fluttering insects within his stomach would cease their uproar and he'd be free of this feeling--whatever it truly was.   


For now he'd just have to own up to the fact that some riddles were ones he couldn't wrap his head around, even with all the motherfucking head wrapping he was capable of. This seemed a thing what was going to prove to bring about the rarity that was /baffling/ him. He would've assumed that the withhold of knowledge that was actually relevant to him would be angering, maybe enough to get him mad at this human who offered no answer, but it just wasn't so. That strange and strong call to camaraderie ringing in his head loud as any horrorterror could wouldn't be diluted in the slightest by frustration and none-too-blissful ignorance.    


While respective thoughts on the situation were varied, he had indeed been bested. He'd do his damndest to look as cheery as he usually did, though he couldn't help but know that inklings of not wanting to move had to have showed on his face. Were chucklevoodoos not his only other option, he would've probably taken any other option. As it stood, he'd again sign to her his apologies and would notify her that her own apologies weren't necessary, it was his fault, blah blah blah. Most every thing was turning into his fault today... Maybe this whole thing wasn't a fluke though. Maybe she wasn't smiling before because she just felt like she had to. Or maybe she'd just run off now that no hands were being held. He honestly wouldn't place a bet on either side even if he had been hatched as a betting troll.   


Kanaya stands there, watching as Kurlz is about to make his next move. Or lack there of at this point. Why was time still going so slow? Oh, if only she were a time player, she could just make the proceedings go by that much faster. Surely she had other things to do rather than to stand and have a silent duel like this. I mean, not that she was in any hurry. She was just being dramatic. It seemed to be a recent development in her mannerisms lately, even if only at the spark of these kinds of situations.    


Wait, no no, that wasn’t right either. she had never taken part in anything like this before. Sure, her and Rose would often come at a crossroads when they would lock eyes. And hands. Maybe even several other things, but I digress. The intensity was still the same.   


At least, it was.   


Her smile was pulling at the sides of her mouth for a little, still, at this point. But the gentle smile soon fades as she feels the pressure releasing from both above and below her hands.  Huh. Didn’t seem all that serious any more, now that she was left to herself. Signs. Signs were not something she could read much, but faces were, if it meant anything. She clears her throat. Oh gosh, about to dive from the deep end again. Here we go.    


“Pardon me - Kurloz?” She asks, before he could have a chance to turn away. If that was his intended course of action, even. “Would you like to keep me company?” She asks, almost going back to take his hand. The damn thing was only in hers for a moment, but she felt strange without it there. That weird feeling you get after taking something off that you had worn for so long but it just... Feels like it is still there.   


The indigoblood would experience a myriad of emotions after being freed of the other's hands, not that he'd felt in any way captive and therefore needing freedom. In a sense, it was almost a relief-- he wouldn't be bothering the poor Maryam any longer if she was bothered, there would be no insecurities about not being able to communicate or making attempts to, and ultimately? Well, ultimately that paled in comparison with the dull ache that arose in his bloodpusher over losing the contact. He couldn't even pass this off as a fluke anymore. He had himself a crush and he had it /bad/.    


Kanaya was wise to be so quick to ask him to stay. What with how mirth-be-damned embarrassed he was feeling, what with a philosophical fuckton of shit to sort out, what with how much of a /mess/ he was turning out to be, he really had intended to leave just as straightaway as ever he could. Just try to ride this thing out, just try not to get to looking for her when she had potential to be around, just, just, just.    


Only... She'd asked if he'd like to stay. He was a little thrown off his game to delve too far into the intricacies of her own tones, facial cues, body language to detect hints of /why/ she'd give him the option. It was all he could do to mind his /own/ shows of conscious and subconscious cues of expression. Luckily he was able to refrain from covering the lower portion of his face with his hands and proceeding thereafter to joyously sway like a wriggler might. He shouldn't have been excited over it. He wasn't being pitiable, he was being motherfucking pathetic.    


What was even more pathetic was that he had to will himself not to be too fervent in the nodding that /yes/ he'd like to keep her company. He'd also will himself to get the thought of not overstaying his welcome all intimately acquainted with the part of his mind that still clung to logic like it ought. On the first sign that she was no longer digging it, he'd ollie right the fuck on out, no questions asked.    


He honestly had to wonder beyond what logic told him was a good idea though. She wouldn't have asked to drag this out if she was feeling all kinds of uncomfortable, would she? Then again, she /did/ seem like the polite type... Maybe he was showing too much of how he felt and she didn't want to wind up hurting his feelings by sending him off so fast? It was hard to say. He wasn't even hardly nice enough a troll to let linger what he preferred instead make leave, so the thought of letting anyone stick around for the purpose of sparing feelings was a foreign one. Humans were so weird.    


Weird didn't bother him so much at the moment. Nah, the whole thing was weird and that was fine by him if it meant gaining a little more time. While logic was there trying to knock some sense back into his head, hope was contented in entertaining the possibility that maybe it wasn't a bad-kind-of-pity offer. Either way, he was going to try to let this be painless for the both of them. He'd make himself useful after the surprise of being asked to stay washed away, help her get her shit together--the shit of the sewing variety, that was-- that had sort of taken the back seat in light of this fumbling, awkward, altogether motherfuckin /sad/ string of what was actually a nice experience.   


Kanaya stands there as she waits for a reply, one that she could hopefully even do the least as to make out, that was. Time seemed to halt up again. It seemed to enjoy doing that at the worst of times. Or maybe even in this situation, the best of times? She just wouldn’t know until the troll would answer her sheepish query.   


Oh! A nod? A nod was a good thing, yeah? Kanaya almost lets out a sigh of relief, just wanting to sit right back down where she stands, all the muscles in her body up until that point had just been so tense. What with the anticipation, silence, awkward fumbling, questioning. All in a matter of a minute or several, too. Really, was that all? Quietly reflecting on it for a moment, it seemed to have taken at least a full hour from her perspective. The most caprisious hour of her life. 

 

Wait, Kan! What are you just doing standing there? Shouldn’t you be offering some sort of explanation? Maybe even something to /do/ with this person? Gosh, she didn’t even know where to start in trying to piece together the next part of this puzzle. There were almost infinite options, but she just couldn’t seem to pluck one out of the air. What would he even like to do?   


That’s it. Right, she’d ask.

Ask, Kanaya, it’s alright, do it.

Inquire your little heart out.

We’re all waiting.   


“Would you like to sew?!” Was the first thing that came out of her mouth after her eyes landed on his stitched up mawwwwoh... no. What the hell kind of question was that. ‘Would you like to sew with me after it is what got me pissed off in the first place? You look like you have experience!’ is what she might have well said. Gosh, she felt so foolish. And... And her cheeks felt hot. Oh no, she was blushing again. It was going to burn a hole right into her cranium, wasn’t it?

 

Had Kanaya not been so clearly mortified over the question that just sort of tumbled out of her mouth, or if perhaps he hadn't seen her transfixed on his own mouth the instant beforehand, he wouldn't have even noticed how bad it sounded. Anymore, the stitches just kinda... Were there. Wasn't really a thing he thought on too much. Was just as ever present as anything else he had. The locks of his hair were no more focused on. Being dead had a way of dulling such unique idiosyncrasies. One of the motherfuckers was a rainbowdrinker, one was a human in a seadweller's body, one would pay to make you listen to her, and one had stitched lips. Just didn't hold no intrigue anymore. Wasn't even a thing. Unless somebody brought them up, trying to give him a wicked case of blackrom vapors or something, he didn't even feel riled up inside over lingering stares at them. Wasn't like he hadn't ever done his own share of staring after all.    


But. 

Now it was kind of a thing again. And... While it wasn't brought up in no manner of hateful way such as would even remotely bother him normally... He felt a little on the self-conscious side. Not enough to go taking them out or anything foolhardy like that, but he maybe found himself twiddling his thumbs a little, not sure on how to react because, Lord help him, what if she was weirding the fuck out over them? What if she was fixing to call it quits, run off somewhere? What if she wasn't weirding out, but she had that whole 'oh shit, don't talk sewing around Stitches there' mentality like Vantas did and was promptly feeling bad? Neither option was ideal. Not hardly. Was a shame really. He enjoyed sewing. Wouldn't have had no needle and thread around all those sweeps back if he hadn't never gotten into it. Worse yet, he might've had some around for small type repairs and would have wound up with crooked stitches. That would've been depressing.    


He'd stop twiddling his thumbs like he was dumb in both senses of the word before working at looking as good-natured as ever he'd looked, not a smear of taken offense on his face. He really didn't want to scare her off. He really didn't want to really not want to scare her off either, but so much for that. He'd offer a sort of neither-here-nor-there shrug in response before hastily adding the inquiry as to whether he actually /could/ be of help. After all, she'd seemed to be a little on the frustrated side over her own sewing endeavors. It wouldn't hurt to ask on it anyway, would it? Or was that weird a thing to ask after he'd caught her staring? ...Fuck. He guessed he'd just find out.   


It took Kanaya a moment for that little shrug to register in her mind, but soon enough it helped her calm right down. Just - good to know that she didn’t go and offend him like an uncultured moron that she felt like she must have been at times. Really, if anything, she was trying *oh* so hard to do the polite thing in regards to all of these aliens. Wait- shit, it was probably rude to call them aliens as well. She soon tried to quell that train of thought from her mind though, because it was starting to show on her face, awkwardly mixing with the smile she had going on. Her brows were starting to furrow up, but she realized it early on and shook her head a bit to snap out of it. Gosh, starting to daze out a bit, even.   


Hmm. Some more signs - it, it seemed like he was asking to help? Or - what help he could be? She couldn’t really tell, and in truth it was starting to frustrate her a bit. Nevertheless, she tries to be as patient with him and herself as she can. They’ve been through too much already just to let this trainwreck of a social interaction get away from them.   


“Please, do pardon me if I am taking too long to discern what you mean at any given point in time.” A pause, “The truth of it is is that I do not quite know my way around sign language. But please, believe me when I say I am trying my absolute best to understand you.” Taking a deep breath, she looks at him for a moment, hoping she understood him right the first time. “If you are asking what help you’d be, I am sure you could be plenty of help.” But... Just what could he help with? Before another moment passes, she finds herself starting to muse aloud, her hand pensively stroking her chin. “Embroidery, stitching, costumes, dresses.” Eyes started to shine a bit. “Collaborating, being models...” Oh, oh goodness that was getting away from her rather quickly. Snapping out of it, she looks back to Kurloz.   


“Ahem. Well, I mean...” Oh, gosh, she probably sounded a bit.. Strange.   


Strange or not, Kurloz wasn't one much for dissing passions--no matter the form they took. Well, unless passions arose in the area of purposefully being blasphemous on the matter of his /own/ passions, but... Well, he didn't exactly foresee that being the issue at hand. Apology had been scrawled across her face just as often as it had been on his own, so he didn't theorize that she would go down that dark road of offense. That, unfortunately, was both charming and not at all helpful in the matter of trying to quell the awful feelings of pale romance that were trying desperately to bloom in his poor black heart. He really was between a rock and a hard place. Why'd she then have to go and be all sweetly passionate over sewing like that? That gleeful sparkle in her eye would have been most all the convincing he'd have needed if she wanted to try out any and all of the aforementioned activities. He was a weak-ass fool and there was no saving him.    


Hmm... It really was a shame that she couldn't understand him with all possible ease. While thoughts of utilizing chucklevoodoos always wanted to be on the forefront of his mind, he didn't particularly think going down that road would be a good idea. Not so much. There was no telling if he hadn't picked up something to write with along with the medium to do so, but... His sylladex had a strong tendency to be finicky on its own, and with him being without his usual precision in his slight of hand, he couldn't really attest to the brilliance of that idea either. It was hard being the bumbling idiotic sort. How others managed to perpetually do as much was beyond him.    


In any case, he'd dismissively wave away her concerns over time taken to follow his meaning. Just the fact that she was giving it a shot--and doing rather well at that-- was enough to keep him content. He could never hope for much beyond giving understanding a shot in the first place. Such had been life, such thus far had been the afterlife. It was a little on the difficult side to be all figuring out what to do on the matter of making communications easier though. Maybe he'd just kind of nod all along with everything mentioned? Sure, why not. He wasn't exactly in any kind of opposition to anything she'd mentioned. Stitching was an obvious type thing he was into, certain aspects of bardly costume were in the ol' portfolio, and he had a few trinkets he'd consider collaborations with the Lord. Granted, the sewing part had been all him, but imbuing with certain powerful-type qualities hadn't exactly been his doing. Seemed collaboration enough to him.    


Maybe the sole non-awful idea he'd have would be to ask what it was she'd like to go for first? This whole thing had been a big matter of hits and misses and grace given over blunders, so taking the chance of asking seemed sound enough. Of course, mid sign he changed his mind on asking what she wanted to do first in favor of asking instead whether she didn't want help on her current project that had been put to the wayside. Yes, that made understand easier. Nicely done, Kurloz. Would it not look odd, he could've shaken his head at his own stupid self.   


Oh... Oh goodness. What did that mean? Those signs just then. Kurloz seemed to be going a bit too fast for Kanaya to see all that he was saying, but right in the middle of one of the signs, it looked like he was going for another one. Was that one statement? Or did he change his mind? Ah! How the heck was she going to piece this together now. She watched him carefully as he finished his signs, almost going so far as to stick her tongue out in concentration when her eyes narrowed in on his hands. The ones she held for a really long time, oh gosh. Wait, where’d they go?    


Looking around Kurloz’s chest for a moment, it took Kanaya a few seconds to realize that he was done signing. Oops! That red that became all too familiar in her cheeks during this session was starting to flush her face again as she defensively puts up her arms, almost like she’d be castigated for not paying attention. Really, she was paying a little too much, if anything. Wait...   


Hold on, well that took long enough to figure out. He must have been asking what to do - right? Mayyyybe to work on the last one? She could only hope that is the case when she kneels back down to her bag to retrieve her sketchbook. Or sylladex. It was all the same at this point. After rummaging around for a bit, she finally has it, soon standing back up. Hmm... Thumbing through the pages, Kanaya finds where all of her dresses and things were drawn up, in particular that one she was working on from before.   


Kanaya hands the book to Kurloz, then walks behind him to peak over his shoulder. “This is the last thing had been working on.” She pauses, “Before I made a fool of myself, I mean.” A nervous chuckle followed, but faded after her finger began to point to certain areas of the picture. The whole thing was a really detailed mockup, one with all kinds of colors and designs into it. Maybe even a little ostentatious, but Kanaya wouldn’t believe that for a moment. If anything, this one was a little bit of schadenfreude. Hell, not even that. Undertaking this pain in the ass project was borderline masochism. Especially with the flowery part of the sketch Kanaya was pointing too. “I’ve been working on embroidering this part of the dress.” Come to think of it, not a single finger seemed to be without a bandage. “And it’s been proving a little... Difficult.”   


She leaves it at that for now, and looks over to Kurloz, plopping her head on his shoulder. Oh - wait, that probably was pretty far out of his personal bubble.   


He took way too much delight in her continued ability to latch on to his signs like a blessed merciful lifeline and make sense of them even when there wasn't much sense to be found in 'em. Of course, nonsense and absurdity was running rampant right about then, wasn't it? Seemed fitting. Normalcy would surely seem more desperately out of place by now than proverbial hell and highwater would. 'Let's make pile eyes at each other and hold each other's hands like we ought to be shooshing some secret torment that had yet to worm its way out into light. Let's get each other all to blushing the highest and most damned off-the-radar shades with fair amount of constance while we're at it. Universe stopped making what sense it still did, so why not help the anarchy along? Why the fuck not.' He cared, this was all still very much a thing he wanted to tread around carefully, not walking on eggshells so much as tiptoeing across nails and glass and all the needles in the world tainted with harshwhimsical purpose. He cared, but he didn't. Didn't want to hurt his moirail, but didn't want to leave. Didn't want no measure of a crush, but didn't want to think that he'd never get to hold those hands again or hear talk of sewing or offer help when pinpricks became way too much of a thing for her to not give him this awful welling-up of dread melancholy at his core that slowly worked its way up and formed a knot in his throat.    


He'd ignore that in favor of paying some damn attention, taking that sketchbook full of miracles from her like it was apt to break or disappear into thin air if he didn't hold it just right. Maybe it would. Add it to the long list of logicless happenstance that was accruing in a parody of a diamond pile. They'd be in over their heads before too long if they didn't shape their shit up and he knew it. So he'd just take the book and look it over like he was prompted to, maybe with more attention to detail than was needed seeing as it wasn't no holy text he was left to ponder, but it was a little late to get all nitpicky at anything at all.    


Was too late to keep that mirth-be-damned impressed sort of joy off his face too. Something about all making her art happen in her little book and then going on to make that art out there and tangible and wearable was just something to be proud about. He didn't have any place to be proud seeing as it wasn't his accomplishment and she was nobody to him, but proud is what he felt at her.    


And right the minute he was going to work at dispelling those thoughts, he felt something besides pride. Her head was resting on his shoulder like he couldn't just take the opportunity to reach over and turn it away it oughtn't be turned and just be /through/ with everything, but he knew he wouldn't. No more than she would take advantage of his neck being so close and open to hurt as it was. It wasn't like he could catch his double death that way, especially not from some human, but the habit to flinch was fairly well ingrained. Habit died harder than he had. So why was it then that he didn't flinch? He didn't have no rhyme or reason to place enough trust in her to not. Just wasn't even a thing that should've been happening. Worse beyond that though was the petrifying realization that was dawning to him-- he'd nuzzled in, rested his head against her own. Worse beyond what was beyond worse, he didn't want to move away none. It was the whole hand-holding fiasco all over again only infinitely and intimately worse. His bloody Messiah would arrive in glory one day, and instead of finding faithful servants with heads bowed and hearts alight, but all to see would be him there, cuddling against some measly mortal like a grub to a lusus who weren't around for sweeps and decided to show up right the fuck out of two different instances of blue.    


Goddam--no, no, he didn't use no measure of vulgarity in Divinity's name. Damn him, damn this situation, but maybe not damn her so much. Not so much at all. He was just gonna stand there, look at what he was guessing were fashionable as all /fuck/ designs-- because it wasn't much like he knew a thing at all about high fashion to be completely sure, regardless of their innate beauty-- and he wasn't gonna make a thing out of the closeness. Maybe it wasn't weird to humans? Just a motherfucking cultural thing? She wanted to rest her head there on his shoulder whereas he'd be more prone to a light bump of his forehead against her own just then. Culture things. Culture things was all this was, and he'd recite that in mind like a prayer long enough for the whispers and screams of the horrorterrors to join him in reciting if need be.    


Holy shit. Holy fucking motherfucking wicked bitchtittied shit, she'd been talking and he'd zoned the fuck out into his own thoughts; had missed some of those precious words she spoke even while she was so close to his ear. This wasn't his day. Just wasn't at all. Uh... But okay, she was having difficulties, he knew that much, and it wasn't hard to infer that the embroidery part was to blame. Embroidery was tedious and it could really be a pain in the ass to fix if anything got messed up along the way. Didn't seem like it was gonna be too much of a pain to get him to not keep his offer of assistance on the table though. Maybe he was mistaken. Maybe this sister really would be the double death of him. Just not in the most obvious sense.    


The second time he'd be vexed over having to cut short their moment due to complications of communication his vows presented would occurs too soon for his liking. Too few one-handed signs, too much shoulder jostling would happen to let her stay there all comfortable. Moving away and then signing would have been his best bet. Being rude, signing straightaway and letting her get jostled was maybe his second best bet. He went with the alternative, unspoken and justly so option to not offer a thing edgewise to her talk. He'd keep on looking over the page, pretend it took that motherfuckin long to figure out how best to go about it. Was hard to say whether he'd be found idiotic or intellectual for looking so long. Seeing as he was wasting time, he'd always know for himself that it was the former.    


He'd taken the fall, moved last time. If she wanted shit done, she'd be the one to end the closeness, so help him.   


It didn’t strike Kanaya right away, but over time she’d realized that Kurloz had been... Zoning out maybe? She wasn’t even sure. But it was with each little moment that passed, she’d notice he seemed to slip away a little more... A little more. Maybe he was in some kind of reverie? If he was, Kanaya wouldn’t want to be so rude as to terebrate a hole of reality right up and into it. But, then again, she was the one talking, wasn’t she? As her chin eases up on his shoulder, she looks over to him, but it was right at that moment that he seemed to snap out of whatever happenstance had drawn him right into that daydreamanyway.    


It was with the longer Kurloz remained silent that Kanaya just didn’t know what to make of his thoughts. Was he pondering? Ignoring? Zoning out again, maybe? Or... Was it some kind of spite? Oh, oh no! Had she really gone too far by assuming he was okay with being this close in proximity to her? Upon that thought, Kanaya freezes in place. Why did she have to be such a touchy feely, motherly kind of person? What did those trolls call them... Lusii? Kanaya’s been compared to a Lusus on more than one occasion, whether it was for better or for worse, and she would only hope that conclusion wasn’t being drawn in Kurloz’ mind. Gosh...   


She looks around a moment, before her eyes narrow back to Kurloz. “I am sorry, should I move?” Was all she could think to ask. I mean, be blunt about it, right? If she wasn’t, it’d be more likely than not that a whole stream of words would fall out of her mouth, and she doubted that Kurloz would want to have to form a signed reply to her vomited syllables. Really, if anything, would it have been alright if she just didn’t ask? And just- stayed? She didn’t know why, but this stranger was starting to feel less like a stranger and more like a lost friend. It was so- confusing.   


Though, the more Kanaya thought about it... Wasn’t there a word for this? Didn’t trolls say something about... Multiple romances, a platonic one in particular? She tries to ponder back on it, but the subject was cloudy in her mind. She wanted to ask about it but that would probably be strange! No, not probably, it would definitely be strange! Kanaya bites her lip, before posing a suggestion and moving from Kurloz’ shoulder. “Would you be too terribly offended if I offered you a pen to write in my book?” If she was going to ask anything, how was she going to read signs of words she didn’t even know the origin of? If anything, she’d gotten worse at reading him than when they started this whole interaction. Granted, it was still lovely, but it was getting very hard. She could never tell if he was either comfortable or dying for her to leave him alone, regardless of what he may have said.

 

He knew he should've been paying her more heed. He knew that and now she was asking if she shouldn't just move, offering apology right along with inquiry. He was so, so very used to long bouts of silence like the one he'd subjected her to that he hardly knew straightaway just how they could be misconstrued. Seeing as she apologized, she probably thought that she'd committed some kind of wrong at him and that he had some kind of /quarrel/ with her and-- and now that blessed warm was no longer pressing on his shoulder and he was feeling the loss far more than he should have. She wasn't but a step away, and there he was wanting to wax melancholy over feeling lonely. He'd just have to knuckle down and get through this; after all, even if they /could/ work out some kind of relationship--and there was just no motherfucking way they could-- he knew that nobody liked an overly clingy moirail. Moirail or whatever poor excuse for anything else he could be instead. Damn it, not that he /could/ be anything.    


Hope was being humored. Not a lot, but enough to foster a kind of low, shifting, nervous dread. It would be so frightfully 

easy to wind up making her back off until kingdom come, and that wasn't what he wanted. He'd long since established that that was more what he /should/ have wanted, but establishing didn't seem to count for shit anymore. Big surprise there.    


After giving his best attempt to not look crestfallen after she made some distance between them, he'd consider her proposition. Kurloz was thankful he could breeze past the first question due to the arrival of the second. Wasn't no way he could answer on just how much he didn't want her to move, not without some kind of unsettling edge he always managed to inject. He did fairly well to read others, but others were so rare to share the ability unless he made it pointedly simple. Never minding the tragicomedy of it, he'd gotten rather good at charades by now. A choice smug look, a good effort to stick a foot in walkways, and he fairly well had himself a blossoming caliginous fling. Spades was what he knew. Hate was easy, platonic or not. Love that wasn't marred by red so much as to even be pink, now there he was left to his best judgement.    


Weeping over the scarcity of good judgement on the matter could've happened if he was dramatic enough for it, but he wasn't. Besides, written answers would eliminate any room for misinterpretation, right? Well... It had to work better than this. Surely it couldn't make things worse. He didn't know how it possibly could, and he didn't particularly want to face enlightenment on that subject in particular.    


With that in mind, he'd shake his head in response to her second query--much as a hearty 'no' worked for the first too. He wouldn't be offended by being asked to write. It wasn't like many familiar faces around him lit up with sweet comprehension in light of his signed words, yet he couldn't recall the last time he'd been offered writing utensil and page to make clear his meanings. People stopped caring after a while. It wasn't that he blamed anybody by any means. Was more just a matter of it being refreshing to find somebody who did make the effort to care.    


If scrounging through his sylladex wasn't the painful process that it was at times, not unlike plucking out teeth, he'd would have found pen and paper of his own to use. It was one of the better solutions there was, but disuse overruled necessity after a time. Only, now that he had the second to think about it, he almost felt bad to be getting offered to write in her book to get his point across. She had such lovely things going on in there and it hardly seemed his place to take away from that with words. Turning down the offer after she was giving apologies didn't seem wise though.    


So long as he could remember to not write too motherfuckin big, waste all her paper like that, he would be set. Things were already being made close to unsavory again by almost drifting back into that 'thinking altogether too much' stage, but that would easily be fixable with a few written words. Now he just had to find out what those words /were/ that would mend everything up just right. That... This was turning into more of an issue than he'd thought it could have ever been. He could make right with write.    


... That was the worst pun he'd ever heard and he came up with it and he was /losing it/, wasn't he? At this rate he'd be able to come up with nothing but warbled, inky, imbecilic words that reflected none of what he really wanted to convey, much less what he could convey without overstepping boundaries. Those strange, strange boundaries he didn't quite know parameters of.    


Now he just had to hope for no hard things to write. He could sign himself out of most anything due to general misunderstanding and waning attention spans for trying to decipher meaning. Nothing was getting ready to be writ in stone, but words on paper still were fairly concrete. Wouldn't be easy as sin to fall silent or sign long enough to avoid saying what he didn't want or oughtn't say. The thought was a little more nerve wracking than it should've been, but he wasn't about to go changing his answer. Seemed righting meant writing after all.   


It took a moment for Kanaya to get her things, thoughts rushing as she kneels to her bag. Kurloz seemed eager enough to clearly commune with her, though the tinge of hesitance in his actions was enough to make her think otherwise for a moment. Really what was she going to do? Yes, get her things of course, but what was she going to ask?    


Many thoughts littered her mind at the moment. Many topics that clouded her brain and actions. She sits next to her bag after a moment, shuffling up to the blue, magenta-leafed tree behind it, patting the ground next to her to see if Kurloz wanted to sit. Hopefully he would, because who know what she’d do if he’d refused. Get back up? Fumble over more words and scattered apologies? She’d been apologizing much too often already. It seemed to be every other word that fell from her mouth this evening was some form of contrite excuse, and ever sign being tossed her way was an antapology.    


Alright, fine. This was it. No more lamenting on the gnossienne of all this, she was going to finally have a firm basis of communication with him. Kanaya hands Kurloz her sketchbook, turning to the back page as she hands him one of her purple pencils. It seemed like a proper color for the time being, didn’t it? Violet by chromaticity seemed to be the only color on his entire person. Was that a result of his blood color? Perhaps. Hopefully it wasn’t offensive to hand him something of his color then- was that caste-ist? Could a human even be discriminatory based on caste? Surely that wasn’t a question she was going to ask along side her already obviously planned queries. 

 

Okay! Really, she was going to ask now. but- how to word it? Ugh, it was probably a really touchy subject. Kanaya sinks into the tree a little. “Ahem. Well, yes, hoping it is alright to ask this.” She sits up, after giving Kurloz a simper of a smile. “I was talking with one of the trolls I’ve become acquainted with, and she’d been telling me about your quadrant-based romantic system, and how there happens to be more than one partner.” A pause, “Now, it is quite confusing to me because humans only have one lover for one ‘block’, but I have also heard there is a gentler, more platonic natured romance?” Alright, that wasn’t too horrible.    


“I was wondering- hoping really, if I could ask you what it would entail?” Okay. She did it, finally got that question off her chest. Now the only issue at hand is how her new friend would interpret it.   


The indigoblood would grant Kanaya all the time she needed to get her things and thoughts all in order-- after all, mirth could just be damned if she hadn't granted him more than enough time he deserved to get a grip. Seemed only fair that he do the same, and since all fairness was being elusive, he wasn't exactly aching to be the downfall of what was fair. Feeling pale towards a human, especially while already having a moirail, and beyond that, entertaining the most distressing thoughts of 'if only' and 'what if'. Not a shred of that was fair, and something, even something as insignificant as this, had to stay fair. Who knew? Maybe more things of fairness would follow suit, find kindred kith and kin, be proverbial birds of a feather and flock together.    


With the unspoken invitation to sit a spell or two or every last mystical one didn't exactly draw out the mirk and muddle of whether it was leading into what was fair or what wasn't. There wouldn't be time devoted to pondering which way the odds would point to. No, he'd take a seat where he was bidden to sit, thinking he'd probably shown a bit too much hesitance. Overzealousness wasn't better, but he didn't want her to assume that he'd rather leave and was only staying to humor her or uphold his end of what social convention dictated. Human or troll, it just erred on the side of rudeness to leave on whatever the motherfucking sort of perplexing note they were on.    


Maybe things were starting to look up though. He was offered a place to sit which meant that she was in no hurry to get him to leave, nor was she in any rush to leave herself, and... While he would have to admit that he hadn't left as much of a respectable distance as he would have if any other had bid him to sit by their side, it wasn't the kind of close that he'd let bother him. It wasn't like they were draped over eachother and just as pale as bones bleached in the sun, just waiting to be ground into stardust. No, he was only in the spot he'd been invited to sit in. That was all. Wouldn't have made sense to be further away than that anyway, would it? Would just involve a lot of leaning back and forth to pass the sketchbook back and forth.    


This was all just definitely a sign that things were looking up. No more struggling with signs, no likelihood of getting called out for sitting too close--how close was too close for humans anyways--, and he even got the color of pencil to write in that he would've chosen himself out of every color of pencil there was. His words belonged in the same shade of his blood and that was all there was to it. Granted, his words also should have been written to harken back to the skeletal form he showed on his clothes, but that would be too time consuming if he planned on saying more than one word. Really, he would have to consider dropping any measure of quirk. Capital letters were bigger, took up more space, and he really didn't want to waste all her paper. He wasn't the worst of the lot-- wasn't now, hadn't been before-- but he knew he could be long-winded when any kind of vehemence wormed its way into just what it was that he had to go on about. But now he was mostly just psyching himself out, backing down under all the darkened whispers of what failures could find him. He'd already decided that things were looking up, and that was that.    


Or at least it /was/ that for all of a few joyous seconds before her query was breathed into existence. Of all the things to ask... Of all the quadrants and questions she could've wanted to find answer on... The question he wanted answer on was whether the Mirthful Lord would shed tears for his misfortunate circumstance or whether tears would only fall for laughing so hard at how fate twisted and turned to entangle him so. He had no way of answering. No way at all. He wouldn't be sitting there feeling his blood run cold at such a simple question if he knew just what moirallegiance was supposed to entail when one of said moirails wasn't a piece of shit clown wanting to be all pale at somebody else.    


But he couldn't write that, now could he. Damn it, he couldn't just freeze up either! He'd try to look less like he wanted to just double die and take up his ring in the Dark Carnival or else get dragged down elsewhere like the sinner he was, try to smile in a way that didn't look /completely/ like he was trying to be strong whilst walking through a trench of lemons and glass, but...    


But nothing. He'd set his pencil to paper, make words happen and hope for the best. Was he even writing legibly? He knew he'd gotten off to a shaky start to say the least. Maybe it was good that he hadn't completely forgone his quirk. Was harder to completely ruin the looks of capital letters too, even if they were a little close together to conserve space.    


"The romance you mean is called moirallegiance. It's", wow, he got hung up on that already? Lord give him strength... "--a little bit of a 'to each their motherfucking own' type ordeal. A few things stand to reason, but it'll vary every here and there like in what all romance it does. Moirails keep each other centered, keep one another from harm or harming. It's hard to explain in full, sister. There's feeling what go into it such as can't be written down to learn. There's this intimacy to it that's every bit as deeply rooted as the intimacy in flushed and caliginous romance, but it ain't one that's so easily swayed into vascilitation as red and black are. Beyond that, there's this trust such as just isn't fostered in the others. Kismesises you can trust as far as you can throw them, matesprits you can trust with your life most times, but moirails you can trust with your life, afterlife, and everything betwixt and between" That was way too long winded of an answer to write and yet it didn't cover nothing about nothing and /damn/ he hoped that made it at least halfways towards making some kind of sense. He could've gotten a little more specific on a few things it entailed, but he wasn't about to mention anything about hand holding or anything else they'd already done. Not unbidden, no. He wasn't exactly going to be the one to say just how much moirailegiances could fall all to pieces and be shoddily kept in tact.    


After a hasty second look at what he'd written, he'd hand over the sketchbook so as to let Kanaya glean what she could out of what would never amount to more than a mediocre explanation even with all the pages in the universe to continue on. By this point he couldn't even hope to not look at least partially embarrassed over being the one to try to explain. He could only hope that she'd be so kind as to ignore any such nuance of expression.    


He didn't even know whether to be relieved or disappointed that he didn't ask just why she wanted to know. She clearly had somebody she was better acquainted with that she could've asked instead, after all.   


As Kurloz wrote, Kanaya took note of said hesitations and expressions, overthinking every last one. He’d taken a bit to sit next to her, and even longer to start writing! God, this wasn’t healthy. He was probably just thinking of how to put it in terms she could understand, if at all. It was already briefly explained to her by Rose, but it was still... Difficult. She knew the vocabulary, the basics of it, and the general emotions that each might have associated with it in the recesses of her mind, but it all just seemed to wipe the moment she met this troll. Something about him was off, but at the same time, she just wanted to hold his hand again, damn it! Not even in the sense she’d liked him. Well, no, she did, but... Oh, huh?   


It took Kanaya a moment to realize that she’d been handed back the book, eyes a bit glazed over from a yawn that just at the moment saw it fit to escape her maw. Oh, gosh, hopefully that wasn’t noticed! He certainly wasn’t boring her by any means, but she was getting the slightest bit sleepy. How could she even let her mind cloud off like that, though? It should have been all but impossible for her to even tread footfalls on lassitude, but here she was. She stifles the next yawn that wanted to make its way out, and instead, took a deep intake of breath through her nose, looking carefully over his words. Kanaya wasn’t reading them quite yet, rather studying how he wrote. Each letter looked nice to her, even if it may have been hastily written. Still.   


Alright, now to set on the actual meaning of these words, huh? Kissemisis- yep, that was one she’s heard a few times. Matespritship- the one she’d gathered was most like human romance. Moirallegiance- Wow. Now that was a heavy meaning, and her eyes widened a bit as she read it. Intense. Every word that followed seemed to be born right out of hwyl. Not that she’d minded, it was interesting to see the manner in which he’d speak as well. It was charming. “Betwixt and between”, “Swayed into vascilitation”. Wow, such a way with words, just the way into a Maryam’s heart. Was that really such a bad thing, though? The chagrin on Kurloz face had seemed like he’d written something awful, when that was surely not the case!   


How to reply? 

Just when Kanaya was about to speak, she gets an idea. She turns to pull her bag closer, taking out a pencil of her own. It had a lovely jade color to it. She didn’t mind taking up the space in her book, either, she had at least one more with her. Always bring extras.    


“I’d originally inquired because I was hoping to have a certain issue cleared up.” A pause as she thinks to herself, “You see, I’ve had these things explained to me before, but I can never seem to retain the information, and to be blunt, I have enjoyed my time spent with you thus far.” A proud nod as she continues, “I do not know if it is possible for my species to accommodate the emotions trolls have clearly evolved with, but i believe that after learning of moirallegiance, I may or may not have had the sparks of a crush in “paler” nature. I am hoping to resolve those feelings.” She concludes.    


Kanaya reads her thoughts over a final time before looking back to Kurloz, giving a small smile as she hands him the book. 


	2. Chapter 2

Much as she'd caught the expression of his woes on his face just as clear to see as his paint, so he'd also notice her yawn. That was all it was though, wasn't it? Just a yawn. No great and mighty foretelling of End Days he wasn't well-versed on. Therefore also no need to turn himself into a worrywart, damn. He knew that. It was easy to comprehend really. Even while rushing like he was, writing still took a pretty minute or two, maybe more. She'd been comfortable enough with him so as to hold his hand until he could regain composure, she'd let him sit by her, she was sharing her things with him, so it wasn't like she would feel ill-at-ease enough to not yawn while he wrote for what felt like forever, right? It had to be right. Believing her to be relaxed was so much better than believing that she found him incredibly dull. If he knew what was good for him, he'd really try to do a better job of dropping his cynicism in his own favor.

He'd deny the baser want to wring his hands or twiddle his thumbs in a mock show of filling the silence in the only way that he could. He wasn't some poor stupid wriggler who couldn't afford to be patient, who couldn't sit still for a single motherfucking minute. He could be just as much at ease as she was. It wasn't like any harm was befalling him, and it wasn't like he thought, /truly/ thought, that the fact of it was going to change. Or maybe that was the part that was unsettling? The assumption of a safe haven between them wasn't merited. She had no reason to be at ease and he didn't either. He knew deep down, somewhere some way, she would sooner hold his hand again than twist it until it made sickly sounds to say it couldn't twist no more. Could he even really hold Kanaya to her selfless trust though? So what. She trusted. She was a human. Their trust was different.    


Except it wasn't different and he had to take to resorting to the self-soothe of trying to untangle a knot in his hair to keep himself from wringing those hands together or trying to read what she was writing by leaning over just a bit more. None of this was worth tying himself in knots to match his hair over. Kanaya would get her information, she'd maybe draw out that process a little or maybe she'd decide she was sleepy and ought to find respite wherever it was that humans found respite, and then they'd be off. Maybe they'd share some kind of accidental pale touch before she left, maybe not, and maybe they would part as friends or maybe not. That was all. That was it; every little black and white possibility of what could happen. There was room for him to be disappointed, but at least there wasn't room for him to be surprised at any measure of capriciousness that fate wanted to toss at him.    


Or, you know, she could hand him her sketchbook with writing that looked like it should've embellished finery of all that was precious or rather than share a page with his own writing. Beyond that even she could hand him her sketchbook, he could read it, read it, read it again because even the Sacred Messianic texts could be misunderstood or interpreted different from one read-through to the next.    


It was hard to draw more than one conclusion from those words, really it was. If the whole part about enjoying her time spent with him-- an addition that he really couldn't condemn-- was not added, he could've interpreted it a different way. Could've interpreted it much more easily a different way at the very least. But still yet, it wasn't impossible. He'd just... Try not to focus on the chance that she could've meant him. Because she could've meant a myriad of other trolls as well. Those little touches might've meant not a thing to her, and he could accept that if it was true.    


It read like she had herself an agonizing pale crush and wanted to find out for sure that a pale crush was indeed what she was feeling too. Maybe it was on that acquaintance she'd mentioned. Maybe it was on somebody she hadn't mentioned-- it wasn't like there was a whole vast planet of trolls left, but he wasn't exactly the only one either. Could've been on anyone. She wouldn't want to ask her crush about just whether or not her feelings were proper enough to be within confines of a quadrant she didn't fully comprehend, would she? He didn't know. Didn't know and this wasn't one of the afterlife's fun little beautiful miracle riddles he didn't have the answer to. This was all manners of excruciating hellmirth.    


Kurloz was once again wasting time and he knew he needed to get to giving some kind of intelligible response. In a way, it was unfortunate that she'd opted for writing as well, much as the show that using too much paper wasn't going to be something he'd get scolded over was nice. Written word didn't tell of nuances in tone, tidbits of meaning what couldn't be conveyed through even the most appealing of writing. Hoping to 'resolve those feelings' /how/? Did she seek advice in telling her palest of diamonds about her crush? Was Kurloz himself the one she was referring to?    


Okay. He had to try to be objective about this. If he wasn't sporting a sad little crush, would he at all think it was him she meant? ... Probably not. Then again, pale gestures weren't ones he was all that savvy on anymore. Not that he'd hardly brushed past general naivety in the first place. He hadn't hardly been moirails with Mituna before the big bad incident made itself into a thing. Weren't many shooshes or paps that got themselves ventured from either side after that. His moirallegiance was nothing if not stagnant. He didn't and couldn't possibly just /know/ what she meant, much as he wanted to. Uncertainty too strongly reigned.    


Better safe than sorry. He'd just... Well, he'd only been pretending to scrawl out something in return for a small smidgen of time now. Maybe it was time he made good on it, actually wrote something.    


"I'd be the worst kind of liar to say that this time we've shared hasn't been mutually of enjoyment. I ain't exactly the expert on what feelings humankind can feel on matters of quadrants humankind just don't observe, but it seems to me like if you got yourself stricken with a case of the diamond vapors, that'd be a thing you'd not be awful motherfuckin wont to be mistaken on. Kind of one of those things you just feel, never minding wish or warrant for it, y'dig :o?" Why did he write the damn question mark face. Why. He tried scribbling it out a little, though perpetual consideration to be gentle on a pencil that wasn't his to scribble with made the ordeal not very effective. Fine. Still-seeable marked out question mark face. Perfect. "Have you got plans for resolve up in that 'pan of yours already, or was that more a thing you were seeking counsel on?" He had to remind himself to not make the same question mark faced mistake he'd made earlier. Motherfuck.    


Another moment ventured to yet again check what he'd written seemed pointless, what with the scribble. At least it didn't seem like his response made it seem like he was assuming. On this matter, there wasn't so much as a fiber of him that was confident enough to jump to conclusions or get arrogant about it. Hopefully he wouldn't come off as obliviously hurtful if conclusions he wasn't about to jump to were correct. Would be just his luck to screw that up, wouldn't it just?    


By the by. He'd not stall anymore, would hand over the sketchbook once again, would hope for the best and plan for the worst.   


In the time that Kanaya had spent watching Kurloz read her words, she drifted in and out of lucidity. A lot has taken place in such a short span of time, but it was tiring. A want to sleep but a won’t to find out what happens if she does drift off into her own little world. A myriad of sad, dolorific things could happen. She could wake up one moment to find that she’d already passed the bubble by, begotten back to her jejune existence on the meteor.    


Sure, the happenstance taking place could be seen as painfully mundane and shamefully saccharin, but the sheer quiddity of the being she’d been sharing it with was enough to merit special attention. Meaning.    


It could be known that the trust Makara shared with Maryam was wholly mutual, even if nothing had been scribed, signed, said, or supplementary to before now. If not told by her actions, surely by the words she wrote moments ago. She’d mentioned enjoying her time with Kurloz for no foreseeable reason. She wasn’t questioned on the issue, so there was truly no need to recite it... Right? But with the mention of having herself a blooming diamond crush, it would be hard to draw anything but the obvious.   


At least that’s what she thought.

Kanaya snaps out of yet another drift, gingerly taking the book from Kurloz, looking over his words. She’d make it a point to get right to reading his writing this time, instead of letting her eyes saunter over each letter. After reading his words once over, she does so again to contemplate just what they could mean.    


Of course fate, if you really believed in such a thing, would have it that he couldn’t discern her growing feelings. This was so- unfair. How could he have missed that swing? It was coming right for him! She was just going to have to do this herself, wasn’t she. Creep right past subtly and come knocking on brusque’s door, huh?    


Maybe even break in, and when he comes down from his chambers to see who’d broken in? He’d see Kanaya, sitting at his table and sipping tea. Then? He’d sit right with the bandit and drink too, of course.   


Certainly Kanaya would have more tact than this. 

After idly nibbling on the end of her pencil, nasty habit, she sets to write, “I suppose you

are right, feelings are feelings.” She glances back to that curiously marked out “:o?”, smiling as soon as she realizes it was a face. That was really freaking cute. Anyway, “I’m not sure if telling you this would be out of proper protocol, then,” She makes it a point to lean on his shoulder, propping the book between them so he may see what she’d been writing. “To tell you that you are in fact whom I’d been speaking of.” Was that too crass? Too vague? Either way, if he fails to see the signs, heh, right in front of him for the second time in a row, third time is always the charm! 

Easing up from Kurloz’ side a bit, Kanaya slips the book to his lap incase he’d still been reading. She does what she only can do, to wait. Giving a gentle smile as she watches his face, her cheeks not even flushed, though that could change in mere moments.   


It was truly astounding just how much this sister, this human sister who hadn't hardly known nothing about nothing on moirallegiance, was the one who he was so enamored with. He could barely recall a time when he'd felt so completely warm in the face and vulnerable. Just how much more would he be able to take before he started sweating like a sinner in church or, worse yet, like a Zahhak? It was all just so strange and new. If all the sweeps of being dead and largely apathetic to the affairs of the others prepared him for anything at all, it was most certainly not for emergence of pale affections. Especially not when he still had a moirail that he was still pale for... Really he was! He was sure of it! Had to be! .... Right?    


Right. Yes, yes of course. After so many sweeps and life and death, he had to be. This little crush would come and go like the ebb and flow of tides. He was just looking through some rose-tinted spectacles right now. If he thought for a minute, he could dredge up all manners of imperfections this girl had to offer. He'd work at making a list. He had to. This was the epitome of a relationship he didn't need. Or want. No, no, of course he didn't. He'd made it thus far without-- no, not without a moirail, but--- he'd made it thus far being the one who didn't need calmed down near all the time. He could keep himself in check just fine. His class and aspect damned well made certainty of it.    


Right. So. That list of just why it shouldn't work. Firstly, she was a human and he wasn't. Secondly she was alive and he wasn't. Thirdly, it wasn't like he'd ever actually feel right telling her of all that he did out of sight of all but The Lord. Absence of secrets was essential in moirallegiance. Not that he ever told Mituna any of that either, but that was different. Fourthly... Fourth... Fourthly...    


Fourthly she was leaning on him again and it made him feel more wanted and useful and sickeningly pale than he'd ever felt in life and it wasn't fair. Wasn't fair, wasn't right, wasnt-- 

Was 

Was 

Requited. 

Whether Kanaya understood the first thing about moirallegiance, whether she could ever feel that kind of all-encompassing affection the way he could--the way he /was/, it was requited. In whatever way she understood, in whatever way she felt, it was enough to be requited. Requited enough so to confess as much and-- and--    


He didn't remember clasping his hands over his mouth like he was some excited schoolgirl trying to stifle joyous sounds he couldn't even make. Hell, he'd made it all but a creed to not touch his face at all so as to not mar his paint or get any measure of it on his hands. He didn't know how bad he'd messed it up, and he made such an unwavering point to not let others see him in paint that was unacceptable. How was he supposed to give her an answer?    


This had to be his punishment for being a bad moirail. His blessings of good luck and calm had been abundant before she showed up. Temptation had been sent his way to test him and he was failing. Now he was paying the price.    


He'd turn away from her, pick the book up after he was sure she wouldn't be able to see his flawed paint, or at least he hoped she wouldn't be able to, and would get to writing. He had to be truthful. He had to, he couldn't lie to her. Not about something so important, shameful as the truth was.    


"I'm glad to read that you", scribbled out. "I'm flattered th", scribbled out. "Are you sure that you really feel" scribbled out. "I think I'm pale for y", oh Lord no, scribble."<>", holy motherfuck no, no, no, scribble, scribble, scribble. "I mean you no offense, I swear upon my vows that I don't, but I can't--" no, 'can't' wasn't as strong a word as he knew he should've been using. He'd cross it out, put 'don't' in its place. "--don't feel that way about you, sister. I'm sorry, I have a moirail already."    


One hand covering his face as though it could hide the flawed face paint, as though it could hide shows of anguish that should've been looks of awkwardness for non-requiting, as though it could hide that he was the worst moirail already and would be any better to her.    


With the hand not attempting to cover his face, making his paint worse if it was doing a thing at all for him, he would reach with the sketchbook in hand as far behind him towards her as he could and drop it.    


It was only then that the panic of the last sentence he'd written would occur to him. He hadn't looked over that awful mess of a reply even once before giving it back and he honestly couldn't remember if he'd written "I'm sorry, I have a moirail already" or "I'm sorry I have a moirail already."    


Had he not ruined his appearance, he very likely could have just left. Just left and went about his not-so-merry way to a dreambubble of his where nobody would ever find him. As it was though, he was stuck there, rifling through a too-full sylladex whose dancing assortment of colored lights rose and fell like cruel laughter that insisted he would never again find the familiar brushes and paint he sought. Kurloz wasn't just stuck up the creek without a paddle; he was motherfucking stuck up the creek without a paddle, without a boat, and the only thing he could do was drown.

Time was seeming to travel faster and faster, wasn’t it? It could have been a number of things. Though the first thought was of the weight lifted from her chest after confessing, the ease time slipped through the hour glass with. It didn’t show signs of slowing down anytime soon. It was sad, really. As much as she loved sitting here and wasting time away with Kurloz. Really, that’s all it came down to and it really was such a shame. With a contented sigh, Kanaya closes her eyes and eases up from Kurloz, holding his arm as she lets her weight fall into the tree. Surely if he had an issue with it before he’d of asked her to move. Maybe she was just making assumptions? Either way, she felt at peace.    


Oh! Oh, what was that? Kurloz moved so suddenly that she was shocked right up! She sits, looking over to him in worry, she could have sworn a shrill breath escaped his maw.    


At first she wonders just why Kurloz’s hiding his face- he seems to be smiling- right? If it was able to be told in the was his cheeks made his eyes squish a little, then definitely! And she returns the smile, though he seemed to be busy looking at her words still.   


But the longer that passes, mere seconds, the whole aura around them seems to change. Things suddenly begin to feel tense. A rhonchisonant sound coming from the tip of Kurloz’ pencil as he writes. It seemed forced, hurried as it something was wrong. Kanaya’s brow knits, worried of what might have happened in his mind to illicit such a change in manner. But God- oh, god Kanaya was beginning to fret.    


Before too long, Kanaya finds the book plopped into her lap. She looks over to Makara again, persing her lip when she realizes he was hiding again. Was he shy, did she throw him off that badly?   


Taking the book, she flips over the pages to find where they’d left off, having had it close when it was fumbled to her. But when her eyes land on the page, they can’t help but to widen.  They look over each scribble, barely able to make out what any of them may hid underneath, though some were discernible. Her smile slowly fades when she realizes just how... Awful Kurloz must feel, if his hiding was to say anything about the whole thing.   


She doesn’t even know if she should leave or stay.   


Surely, if she were to just leave, it would be a stomp to all of this, to the very things she stood for. No, no she couldn’t just leave him here to fester.    


Kanaya takes the book, sinking into the tree as she tries to read his scribbled words, and the ones she could see. So- so was he pale for her as well? Surely if she was a troll she’d be able to understand the weight that went with all of this. But- it was still hard.

It’s always hard.

After thinking a moment, Kanaya glances to Kurloz before trying to write... Nope, nothing. She lets out a stifled sigh as she bites her lip harder. “I am sorry I.” No. “It’s my fault and” Nope. “It was wrong of me to-” No, no, no! She shakes her head, marking out her words, jade scribbles along with his purple ones. They really were such nice colors together, huh? Kanaya just shakes her head of the thought, tossing the book over to her bag.    


She looks to Kurloz, unsure of what to do. Was there anything? At all?! Opening her mouth to speak, she has a hard time even breathing, voice hitching in her throat.   


After a solid minute, Kanaya finally opens her mouth. “It was wrong for me to even confess such feelings to someone I barely know, and for that, I am sorry. It was selfish of me to be so brash in doing so when I was not even aware if you may or may not have had a-” A moment to recall... “A Moirail.” She bites her lip to keep from vomiting any more nonsense- it didn’t even matter, he just seems so ashamed.    


She reaches to put a hand on his shoulder, soon drawing it back in hesitation. No, no she should at least console him. Oh, only if she knew. Her hand makes a solid ‘pap’ sound as it lands on his shoulder, her words short and careful as she speaks. “Would you like help fixing your paint?” She whispers. It was the least she could do. That was if he’d even messed it up with the way he’d been hiding.   


Wait! No, no, should she even be touching him like this?! With that thought, she freezes in place.    


Soon, she pulls back her hand, realizing that wasn’t the most appropriate of things to do. Hell if tears hadn’t beaded up because of how frustrated she is. “I am sorry.” Her tone quavering.    


Looking about, her gaze falls on the sketchbook. Just... She just turns around, taking it in her hands. She sinks in on herself as she packs it into her bag, along with her jade pencil, not even sure where the purple one is. Hell, she didn’t care about a dumb thing like that anyway right now. She could get a new one.   


You messed up kanaya, you messed up so bad.   


Shit, shit, shit. He'd fucked things up. He'd fucked things up so damn bad. The truth was awful, but lying was worse and he'd lied, said he didn't feel a damn thing for her and it was falsehood and it was tearing him up inside something fiercely. Some part of him wanted to break down, cry like he hadn't cried in sweeps and sweeps beyond, because he didn't know what to do. Didn't know what there was to be done. Whether the others had the thought in mind to be wary of him for assumed slyness and intents on his behalf or whether they considered him to be dumb in both senses of the word didn't matter. Fact of the matter was that Kurloz Makara had his sets of plans, had his methods of finding and preparing for bumps in the road, had developed quite the capacity for patience in all things-- and none of it was amounting to nothing anymore.    


He should've been more prepared for things like capriciousness and sways of whimsy like all this was. Should've been, but those were the precious two things what couldn't be easily prepared for. He tried planning around all that, taking so much into account, but it was his own capriciousness, his own whimsy that was becoming his downfall. Why, why, why did he write anything at all? He should've just left. Left and left it alone because saying nothing was better than trying the truth and lying anyways. He'd squared away with saying nothing being what he was best at, so why would he go and destroy any and all chances of anything--    


Not that anything could've /been/ anyway because of Mituna, but... He could've entertained the thought a little when times got hard and the yellowblood would just /look/ at him and just... Just flinch away when he raised a hand to go back over the alphabet like they did sometimes or reteach him what his name looked like signed. He could've pretended that he could've had a moirail that wouldn't flinch away. Could've pretended to have one that wouldn't need to have what was left of their mind overcome all in flashes of purple, tweaked in places here and there so that uncomprehending panic could fade into fatigued forgetfulness because there was nothing else to be done, no better fix, no consistent kind of comfort he could grant.    


He'd tried. He'd tried all he could, tried until Mituna couldn't take no more of it. Tried until his own voodoos were turning on him and every last sin was dredged up out of where he'd so carefully hidden them away, horrorterror voices singing and screaming his faults in his mind until his ears rang, though those same voices would offer taunting reminder that some people would be lucky to have just ringing ears, now wouldn't they.    


In the end, he'd had to let his poor moirail stay all shook up over the strain of it for a little while. Things got stopped being so motherfuckin real when all wrapped up in the surreal wonders he could bring to 'pan and Mituna couldn't never quite figure out how to voice just what'd happened in that time. Then it was Latula's turn to do all the trying possible, not knowing just what the motherfuck had happened and all her trying didn't work neither. Few days later, Kurloz wiped the memory out of those painful tries he wrought upon the yellowblood. No tweaking, no rearranging, no changing emotions tied in. Just wiped it clean, vowed to never do it again, and moved the fuck on, himself being the only one worse for wear. Seemed only right.    


He'd lost his blessed calm during that time and now it was happening again. There was longer a time than was right when he considered just... Wiping this ordeal off the slate, taking away the offense he'd caused to Kanaya, not even to change his answer, just to motherfucking /leave/ like he should have in the beginning. He was going to. He really was, but then all at once she was touching him again, offering an actual pap and...    


And he would no sooner change whatever she thought than he would curse God and double die. The pap shouldn't have helped--really it shouldn't-- but he regained a little lost calm and promptly lost it all over again in favor of actual shyness because her fixing up his paint would have been a whole 'nother level of pale that he hadn't even been on before. He went back and forth on whether she knew anything about pale at all, but he didn't really expect that she knew that one. Just accidental was all. He didn't need to be all showing a dark blush in place of paint that had smudged away and in the tips of his ears. Okay. Okay, this wasn't the time to completely lose it. Times to lose it weren't ample anyways, but this was nonetheless not one of those times. Maybe this could still be fixed up, shoddily patched, considered better left unforgotten.    


If he could just find /anything/ in this miracle-lacking sylladex, he would be just fine. Could maybe--    


Oh no. No, no, no, she was apologizing again and sounded so distraught that it hurt and he was back to not knowing what to do. He'd got damn good at listening in all his time of silence and he knew she was feeling just as mirthless as he was. Sounding mirthless and he was all but certain that she was packing her things up, fixing to leave, possibly for good. Why wouldn't she? What was she supposed to think when he dropped that load of bullshit on her and couldn't look her in the eyes no more? If he could just /tell her/ what the issue was, there wouldn't even be an issue! No teary apologies, no leaving on sour notes, no lack of explanation for that awful page riddled with scribbles and one of the most untrue things he'd ever given as an answer.    


Fuck fixing his paint. He was just going to have to pray and repent and fast and offer sacrifice for a good long while as recompense. He couldn't let her leave on such a note. Not when it could wind up being impossible to find her ever again. Hell, who even knew what'd go down if an alternate self of his found her instead? Seemed that things could get worse a lot sooner than they could get better. Maybe he'd wind up making things worse too. Such possibilities were what went along with not knowing really what the motherfuck to do. He'd just have to use every ounce of will to not come apart at the seams for the disgusting, sickeningly ill feeling that went along with actual visage showing in places. He would feel less unsettled to bear his throat, be at the mercy of this stranger who had right to be angry with him rather than to just... Be all without his proper designs in white and gray. He'd been maintaining his outwardly devout appearance since he could hold a brush and make up his own fuckdamned paint. Felt wrong. Was wrong. Lord help him, he felt so incomplete and defenseless... Maybe it was the panic talking, but even amidst the hell and high water, he couldn't let her just go. Not even now. But what was he to do?    


Turning back around was a good start. Okay. It looked like he'd been right in assuming she was packing her things, fixing to go. She wasn't turned to face him no more, and he was partially glad for that seeing as he wasn't no kind of pristine to look upon anymore and quite possibly showing his fright even in white eyes. Maybe he could just offer a pap to the shoulder like she'd done? Or would that make him the most hypocritical piece of shit after he'd written that he -- well, that didn't matter. He was already a hypocritical piece of shit. There was just no getting past that. Whether he offered any gesture or not, he'd be in the wrong. Was more a matter of deciding whether or not doing something or doing nothing would be more of a slap to the face.    


After wiping residual paint from his hands off onto his sleeve, he'd unknowingly mimic her earlier action of reaching out only to halt the endeavor. Wouldn't she be angry with him for lying? Wouldn't it be worse to offer a pap after saying he was already pale for someone else?    


Another definite 'pap' sound would permeate the air. Maybe it would make things worse, but at least he felt like consoling was a better option than just sitting there doing nothing. Much as he was wont to look unkempt in front of a relative stranger, relative stranger he pitied, relative anyone really, Kanaya was going to just have to be a /notable/ exception where painted visage didn't come first.    


That would, of course be when his sylladex decided to throw him a bone. And by 'throw him a bone', he meant his paints and brushes were sent careening somewhere overhead and beyond him. How long had it even been since it'd last done some dumbass stupid-for-shit type thing like that? He flinched away. Flinched because damn it all, he was scared. Scared for the suddenness, scared for feeling vulnerable, scared for fear of futility in offering a pap, scared because oh God, oh God, he was putting matters of religion out of priority and Divine wrath would fall on him for sure and-- and oh God, what if such things couldn't be atoned for, what if he'd chosen so wrong and Kanaya wouldn't want nothing to do with him and the Mirthful Lord didn't want him no more either and what if his dancestor found out, oh God this was blasphemous treason, and what if he wound up all /alone/, The Lord was all he had left, /ALL/ he had left--    


He didn't even realize that he'd started to cry until he felt himself tremble.   


Only if Kanaya had known of Mituna. If so, she might have just had to give Kurloz more and more comfort if it’d be allowed. Seemed to be the only thing she wanted to do at this point, but it was better for her to just leave this poor guy alone.    


That was until she felt him touching her shoulder. Kanaya looks back after a moment, brows knit at first, but soon her expression softens. He was so- shooken up. Truly vulnerable because of what she’d done and said. There was no way he didn’t have some kind of fondness for her, right? Not with the blush that was starting to take his cheeks again. Before she was able to speak, something just shot out of Kurloz’ sylledex. Kanaya flinches from surprise, soon looking to the paint and- oh, oh no Kurloz just began tearing up, hadn’t he?   


Paint, paint! Where’s his paint?!

Kanaya reaches out for it, hesitant as she looks to Kurloz, looking back to his face to see he’s crying and oh god it feels so awful just to look at him right now, why did she have to go and make him cry?! Kanaya wipes away her own tears, biting her lip as she gives a nod to herself. Right now wasn’t the time to be sorry for herself and everything she may or may not have done wrong. It was time for her to help this poor mess of troll, god damn it.    


With a deep breath she sets the paint aside, turning back to her back to get out a bit of some of her plusher cloth. Looking about, her eyes land on the small lake a few meters away from the both of them. She nods to herself again, reaffirming her plan in her mind. Before getting up, she take’s Kurloz cheeks in her palms, gently pulling him in as she kneels, planting a kiss to his forehead. White on her lips, black on his cranium. A nice trade, huh? Either way, she finds herself getting up regardless of his reaction to the kiss, taking the cloth with her to wet it. She kneels by the water after finally reaching it, dunking the cloth under and squeezing. After a moment she brings the jade mass back up, ringing it out a little as she looks back to Kurloz. When it felt neither too wet not too dry, she gets back up.    


Plop! And here she is, back at Kurloz’ side. Maybe if she knew what a big deal his paint was, had any clue of religion, then she might not be so quick to do this. But still, she was washing away his roofied up paint, gentle with the cloth as she stroked it away. Folding the cloth over once one side got too full. Soon, his face was bare, and god was he gorgeous. Granted, but still. Kanaya clears her throat, making one last swipe around his mouth, ever so careful of his stitches. Her eyes land on them for a moment, almost tempted to ask ‘why’, but right now was probably the *worst* of times to ask such a thing. Next thing her eyes are snapped back to his white pools after realizing she’d been holding his cheeks a little too long. “We’ll get you all fixed up, alright?” She smiles, balling up her fabric and sitting it to the side after washing the paint from her own hands.   


She looks to the paint by her side, pursing her lips as had become ever so habitual. She takes the- the white one? And holds it up. “Is this the one you apply first?” She asks, glancing at it, then back to Kurloz. At this point she was just hoping he’d let her do this much for him. Not to mention she was kind of... Looking forward to doing it! How hard could it be? Of all the wrong she’d done today, this would be proper atonement. Hopefully.   


This wasn't even bad anymore. No, this had extended beyond the confines of 'bad' and had itself a metamorphosis into something bigger and uglier and worse than the walk in the park that 'bad' was. It wasn't the worst thing that'd happened to him of course-- the physical symbol of his vow of silence and reason for it, not to mention actually dying would always have seniority on the list-- but it still was somewhere in that proximity, dawdling behind those worst atrocities.    


Why did he have to be upset? Joy would've been great, rage would've been easy to stifle, and... Well, sheer sadness wouldn't have been great, but at least it was listless; didn't have none of the clamorous absurdity to it that this--what even was this? panic?-- had to it. Panic was all tireless frenzy. It didn't easily find solace from itself within reason or pleads for peace. The indigoblood hadn't had any intention of letting tears fall-- that was a kind of weakness you did /not/ show to just anyone, especially if they weren't tears shown for a damn fine reason. He hadn't cried before dying and there wasn't much of a point in crying after the fact, so why was he weeping like a spineless little rat /now/ of all times?    


He'd wipe at his eyes hastily, not that it made a difference. Fresh tears beaded up to take the place of the ones lost and he still couldn't quite stop the trembling. Panic made shaping shit up too damn hard. He just needed to take some deep breaths and chill the fuck on out. It wasn't that hard. He could do this. Deep breaths in, deep breaths out. Deep breaths in-- why did he have to break down in front of /her/, he must've looked like a motherfucking imbecile-- deep breaths out-- quit thinking like that, quit it!--deep breaths in-- this isn't motherfucking WORKING, you no good piece of shit!--deep breaths out. In equal parts distraction and uproar and failure to /look/ at her because of the shame he was feeling, he had hardly noticed her movements. All at once, those kind hands he'd held earlier were on the face that he'd so desperately tried to hide and a kiss was pressed to his forehead and it stopped all those poison thoughts like a remedy he hadn't known even existed. He still couldn't really look at her, shame and now embarrassment had a death grip on him, but... But that kiss lingered there where it was given just as the lipstick did and the calm so too lingered. Maybe it was a fragile calm, but it was still calm and it was still an immense relief. He'd touch the lipstick imprint, managing to add the black to the paint that hadn't quite wiped off of his hands and onto his sleeves, as though to see if it was really there even though he could see traces of paint that Kanaya had gotten in the process. Distantly in the newfound tranquility he had to wonder whether or not she too would be upset to have her makeup messed up. Granted, she'd been the one to give the kiss in the first place, but maybe she wasn't used to mutuality in colors getting left behind in the process? Was hard to tell. It wasn't like some of the sisters of his session didn't wear lipstick and assorted makeups to feel prettier or more powerful or show off some pretty colors or pretty features or whatever other reason they wore it for. Probably wasn't too much different for human sisters.   


... Okay, restless thoughts were awful, but serene ones were just stupid. It wouldn't be better to go back to the dark, bottomless pit of awful thoughts, but stupid thoughts weren't much better. He'd just redo his paint now that it was out and about, would try to forget that he'd been worked into a tizzy in the first place--and not make her forget he'd been worked into a tizzy either, much as that would be of benefit. Damn, what did she even think of him?    


Well... She was pale for him. Had said so straight out and had given him a kiss that'd managed to console him like sincere pale was supposed to do. But still, surely she couldn't still feel that way after those tears over nothing. Who wanted such a weak, fragile-headed moirail that lost their serenity in the face of nothing?    


He really wished he'd stop thinking in those terms. None of it mattered, not for the good of either of them anyway. Kisses shouldn't have been ventured, he shouldn't have lost his calm like that, and... Well, so long as no one else found out, he didn't really need to tell Mituna all that'd transpired. It was hard telling whether the yellowblood would be understanding or wouldn't understand at all or would be torn up about it. This really /was/ nothing. Nothing. There was no need to drop this all on his moirail and possibly send him into a bad state of being. There wasn't even a 'this all' to drop on Mituna, because it /was/ nothing, much as it seemed like just the coward's way out of confessing wrongs. While it was true that he didn't need no matter of unfaithfulness in moirallegiance getting out, giving his sessional brothers and sisters something new to gossip on, his own best interests just weren't the point. He was a bad moirail, but that wasn't anything that his better half of the diamond needed to know about. That was that. He would've sworn an oath on it so as to keep that devout passion on it, so as to keep honor breakable should he decide to change his mind on what to do, but...    


He was drawn out of his plans for the future due to the present still unfolding about him. The cold of the wet washcloth on his face drew out the warm soothe that her kiss had brought, and almost instantly too. It wasn't like he didn't know that his paint had been ruined by touching it and tears, that was a given. Before panic wormed its way into his head, a touch-up might've worked, but tears and drying of said tears would entail starting over entirely with a washed face. He knew that. He knew the ways of his paint and its upkeep better than he knew the back of his hands, and damn him if signing didn't get him to knowing the back of his hands well.    


Thing of it was, marred paint had been a problem that gave uproarious thoughts an entryway. Completely removing his paint altogether, now there was a complete motherfucking /issue/. Few were the times when even his former matesprit had seen him entirely without. Never had she-- or anyone else for that matter-- gone so far as to actually be the one to take it off for him in the first place. It just wasn't the way things worked. Subjuggulators didn't show their faces to just anybody. Hell, had the knowing and ability struck him when he was hatched, he was sure that his lusus wouldn't have even seen his face without its proper white and gray.    


And where would that leave the count? Himself, his Lord, the matesprit he'd been red for for sweeps and sweeps... And now Kanaya. Kanaya, this human he hadn't known for a day, much less a sweep or even a motherfucking mirthless PERIGREE.    


It-- it didn't matter if it was the most idiotically, intensely, inappropriately, deathly pale thing he'd ever had done for him! It was wrong! Was wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong! Was blasphemy in the face of everything he valued most and as much as it /wanted/ to cloud out a righteous fury, let it bring about the most all-encompassing lull of calm he'd ever felt, he just couldn't fall into that! No, no, no! He shouldn't have been able to be calmed by her in the first place! Fuck it all, he didn't need to be calmed by anybody! Not ever! He was fine all the fuck on his own, /all/ the motherfuck on his own!    


Crying had been an unwanted surprise, and he had no desire to let any strong force of emotion get the better of him again. Much as he was aiming to be at the center of /several/ strong forces of emotion, aiming to be in the eye of the storm, surrounded yet untouched, he was losing his center. Some awful feeling within was convinced that he was neglected, lonely, a highblood so why should he not need soothing sometimes, even now wanting to have some kind of typical indigo's hatchright fit why deny it; and the other prevailing emotion was a seething anger, tumultuous and dissatisfied, craving nothing more than to shove Kanaya away, break earlier promises to not wipe clean the slate, or better yet to blacken the slate with those thunderous multitude of nightmare voices that wanted to turn on him and have him turn on her. Wouldn't hardly even be a trick to destroy a human from the mind on outwards.    


But 

Since when had he ever let rage destroy him.    


While he'd maybe gotten to digging his nails into his palms a little too hard and while the desire to lash out wouldn't quite leave--a strongly ingrained feeling when it came to paint, not unlike the reflex to hide his face when paint fell into disrepair-- it wasn't hardly a thing. Seemed that a hopelessly delicate feeling of intense pale was what it was going to be. Intense pale and the kind of comfort that came with the fact that she was still /there/, she was staying even after seeing him at his low point, was staying even after he lied and even though he was the most horrible piece of--    


Now really wasn't the time to focus on the bad. Assuredly there would /be/ a time for such focusing, he need not go unpunished for insolence, but not when he was unpainted and so likely to fall back into a tizzy. That seemed for the best. Seeing how he still had good enough judgement to not act like a damned heathen even after she was taking off his paint, he had good enough judgement to let himself be calmed until she left and he could properly repent of his transgressions in whatever hateful disdain for his own self he needed to.    


A mere nod to her question was all he could offer. If he'd managed to pull off any kind of nonchalance in focusing on the calm rather than the storm, signing anything would've fairly well rid him of that nonchalance. He hadn't really looked at his hands since before he'd clawed them up a little, didn't really want to draw attention by starting now after the fact either, but there was bound to be a couple of impressions there if nothing else. A nod worked just fine anyways.    


And... As much as he didn't want to meet her gaze or elsewise couldn't because the weight of shame was too heavy on his head to look up, he'd power through. Was... A lot easier to do when he considered how her hands were still there all gentle on his cheeks for the longest time and how borderline unnecessarily careful she'd been around his stitches.... That was sweet. Sweet enough to banish that hazy miasma of unpleasant thinking away for a while even. Sweet enough to let him not... Not regret sharing the moment.    


He'd have to look away again, the smallest smile having fought a good fight to be present. He wasn't supposed to smile, this still wasn't right, but he knew he'd probably need to brace himself. If she actually got his paint properly applied and got the design painted on to his standards, there was always a chance that he could cry for a few very different reasons than before and...    


Well, he really especially didn't want to mess it up if she'd be the one to do it. For shame, true enough, but it /was/ true, just as so many shameful things were true oh so recently.    


It was definitely the intoxicating calm after so much strain doing the talking, but now he was starting to feel guilty for an entirely irrelevant set of reasons. She was being so bewilderingly pale towards him, and he didn't even know how to return the favor. Not that he should be returning favors at all or be taking any, but...    


She'd confessed requited pale feelings and had papped him and kissed him and seen his face and...    


Free of paint, he couldn't feel bad over leaving marks behind. He wasn't going to make a production of it in case she had potential to get thrown off by his affections just as bad as he'd been by hers, but he lied before and truth had a way of wanting to be known whether it was opportune or not.    


With closed eyes he'd lean forward on his whims, rest his forehead against hers, pray or will blessings on her forever and ever, and pray or will any unwanted feelings of guilt and sorrow out of her head to be added amongst his own instead. After leaning back where he'd been, stupid thoughts such as 'if she had horns, they would've clicked together just then' would emerge, and he didn't even mind. So let here the stupid thoughts of serenity be. At least they were happy.   


It’d been a while now that Kanaya was looking into those precious white eyes, curious in just what to do or if she should continue. Funny how that was even a question. She’d started this, so why would the sylph even think of taking back any of what she’s done, what she’s said? It’s not as if she’d be able to anyhow. So many kisses, touches, and sickeningly sweet moments have passed between her and mister Makara already. Did it really matter at this point just how incredibly smitten she’s grown to feeling with this... No, no not quite a stranger anymore. Never felt like one, so why should Kanaya think of him as anything close to it?   


Thinking on it now, she wasn’t exactly sure what to call him. Friend? That seemed like a... very strong word. Acquaintance? Even worse! It was just so impersonal, just what would be the sense in thinking of him so distantly? Because now of all times, the prince was all but far. All kinds of close he was. Had his cool cheeks gently caressed in her palms, those lovely hands all to herself for a few sweet, separate moments. And her language in mind was getting so, so saccharin.    


Were closeness not an issue before, it’d find a way to make itself such. Not too long after Kanaya’s query had been answered with a nod, a smooth touch of flesh upon her own forehead, parallel maybe to where she’d kissed Kurloz. His forehead was brought into a dangerously close proximity to Kanaya’s, and before she could even ask which way was up, he’d finally closed the space between them.    


Just before contact was made it’d seemed like the indigoblood was becoming- becoming...    


Kanaya wasn’t quite sure of the word, but he seemed to all up and right halt right in his thoughtful tracks. Before as the white container rested in her hands, his own seemed to ball up, recess right into themselves. Anger, was it anger? Then why had he come so close to her? Kanaya grew weary for a moment, hesitant in this new closeness. Hands are one thing, faces are another entirely.    


So she sits, looking to Kurloz. He’d seemed to close his eyes... Was that another sign of trust? Surely if he’d been mad at Kanaya no such sign of vulnerability as closing his eyes would follow. Right? Or maybe refusing eye contact was a troll thing if they were upset? No, no that was a dumb thought. And because it was such a preposterous thought, Kanaya would go right on ahead and close her eyes, too. She was confident enough in Kurloz that she knew no harm would come to her, just knew.    


...

Slow as these moments had been, fright and a lull of calm in almost the same eternity, Kurloz had pulled away from Kanaya much too soon. So soon in fact that Kanaya hadn’t just barely began to lean in and rest some of her weight into him. The consequence of doing such a thing? Her own cranium bobbing up after she suddenly stumbled all over herself when that blessed support was gone. Kanaya all but scrambled over herself to regain balance, wide-eyed when her palm was smitten with Kurloz’ chest after finding something to regain said balance. Oh. God. She’d almost managed to knock him over! Oh, no! It wasn’t going to look like she’d tried to push him away, was it?! No, no! he simply couldn’t have that! After what was decided to be a show of anger, she couldn’t let that anger come back! She’d been so unintentionally rude and it was going to be the death of her. Well, if she’d hadn’t already died is the thing, but that wasn’t important now!    


Almost as soon as she’d pushed him for her own support, Kanaya leaned in to hug him in before he could even fall, not like Kurloz was going to fall. Kanaya hadn’t even given too much force with her hand, but she didn’t know that. And she just couldn’t risk it!    


Tightly, firmly, carefully, she held Kurloz. Arms right around his waist.

And. 

And alright. Now what? She just... clung to him. For another... Moment. God, her cheeks were so hot right now. That had to be a blush, it just had to be. 

Do something you idiot! 

And. No, no still nothing. Only... Only still holding him.

...   


“I- I didn’t mean to do any of that.” She offers, not even meaning to say that. “To push you, I mean. And. I wanted to catch you before you could fall.” If... “If you even were going to. I do not know but now that I think about it it seems that you would have been completely fine even if I didn’t go to catch you like this and it’s just so awkward of me to initiate such things oh my god.” Deep breath, “I just.” Ugh Kanaya, come on. “This is. Nice anyway. I believe.” That. That was awful. That was totally and completely so awful of an excuse, and she could have let go of him way, way before now.    


Before now? That would imply she’d let go up until this point. Not now, but.... Now. Now she’d let go and inch away by... About an inch, yep, that seemed about right. Paint, where’s the paint...   


There was no denying that this all was strange. There'd never even been any denying it at the start when it was just some foolish pale crush, but things had grown only more strange rather than tone it anywhere near the fuck down. Lightest of concerns over differing species, differing sessions, differing numbers of quadrants set aside for this kind of affection and none other--all of those had been stowed away elsewhere in light of the oddities that were still managing to rise up. Well, maybe 'had been stowed away' wasn't quite what happened. Maybe they were still out and about, still every bit as real, but they just weren't as significant as they once were. Or maybe they were still exceedingly significant and just looked minor when compared to new concerns. Or maybe Kurloz was fresh out of fucks to give about it. Much like the paleness of feeling, there was now no denying that he'd all but given up on holding on to the innate feeling of indecency over the whole ordeal. Of course, what was he to do instead? Actively feeling awful about it hadn't gotten him distanced away from this girl and had only served to nearly send him into one of those highblooded fits that only those with lack of self-restraint just /fell/ into. If it'd been intentional, then that would be another matter entirely, but that kind of rage, the kind that so fervently sought to see flesh torn from bone and bone ground down until there was nothing left, was the furthest thing he felt for Kanaya.    


It was difficult to sort through all that he felt for this human sister though. Much as he was calm, much as he intended to stay that way, those little white noises of discomforted thought still floated idly through his mind; nothing strong enough to command that he focus on that rather than the moment at hand, but they were still there. He should've been thinking of Mituna, of leaving, of how he felt so indecent and defenseless without his paint, but he just couldn't. Kanaya could hardly be called an acquaintance, much less anything else, and yet... She'd kissed his forehead, had held his face so gently that it wouldn't have broken if it were glass, and she was still just /there./ Nothing had said she'd had to stick around, dry tears that had no place falling in the first place. Nothing had said she needed to forfeit her sketchbook so that they could exchange words. Nothing had said that she needed to requite the kinds of feelings that made him want to lean forward and pray that new blessings be doted on her every day of her existence until existence ended forever and ever.    


And nothing said she'd even be okay with their foreheads pressed against one another in the first place like they shared a quadrant and had the right. What if humans had no place in their one quadrant-centric idea of love for that which was only pale? No, that was a stupid thing to think. She knew the parameters of pale and had acted nothing if not accordingly. She'd been no more able to put hand holding to and end than he had, had been so careful around his stitches when cleaning off his paint, hadn't made any moves suggesting that she wanted him away from her posthaste when he'd cleared the small distance they'd had left.    


And then all at once the moment would be over and distance would again be a thing between them. Only, distance didn't really get its own full moment. Distance got maybe a couple of seconds, maybe just the one, and then there was the distinctive feel of being... Well, not pushed down, and not pushed away either. The force wasn't strong enough and even a human would have the force needed to at least set him to stumbling when he was so utterly off of his guard. There was only a fraction of a second that he'd caught her expression. Just as he'd hoped, no wishes to be rid of him looked present. Or if such wishes were there, they were dreadfully hard to pick out for all the wishes to not fall to the ground. Even with his head being in disarray for all the thoughts that would clash amongst themselves until there was a clear victor, he'd still be able to piece together one bit of information that sent a fresh blush to take place of the one that had been working so tirelessly at receding--that being that Kanaya wouldn't have fallen forward if she hadn't been leaning forward to begin with. Or if she'd been prepared for the moment to end when it had.    


He probably could've mourned cutting the moment short if they weren't already in the midst of another, accidental though it was. There'd never be any getting used to just how blessed soothing it was to be near her. Not ever. There'd surely never be any getting used to just how the flow of time seemed to change in these kinds of moments. Surely ambitions could be just another thought lost, doomed to flutter about unheeded in mind. It wasn't laziness but rather contentment--no, contentment wasn't strong enough a word-- it was realization of innate joy that made him want to stay in these moments as long as he could. Everything was peaceful and unmarred by anything different. It wasn't perfect, and yet it was, and it was baffling. If ever there was a moment for figuring out how the fuck did it work, this one wasn't it.    


Oh. Oh shit, here Kanaya was, explaining the reasons of why she was so close again as though he minded why, and thinking she had to be all apologizing again. Damn they'd both done an awful lot of repentant thought, hadn't they? Wait, had she said that she hadn't meant to do any of--oh, only pushing him. That was good, because he wasn't sure that he even still had a beating vascular pump left, and he was still fairly for damn certain it stopped for a second there. He didn't know why he'd just think that she'd negate all that was happening though. After all, she was the one who'd confessed to having feelings first, right? Hell, he wasn't even anywhere close to thinking that she could even wrong him in the first place, much less just like that. He /was/ still nervous underneath it all, and he /had/ only gotten onto shaky terms, albeit steadying ones of acceptance of calm. It was hard having such ability to waver from one feeling so swiftly into another. It was hard and nobody understood, but it was even harder to pitch a bitch fit on it when apologies were being said needlessly and embraces still got to stay a thing.    


Embraces were so weird though. Was he supposed to just be hugged since it was only a support thing, or should he hug back? Was he supposed to pat her on the back or was he supposed to rub it or not move at all? Leave it to the mute motherfucker to not know just what to do with his hands... Shit, if he wouldn't run risk of getting paint on her, he'd just maybe rest his head against hers a little and-- wait, he didn't run that risk anymore! That was very much a thing he could do! Holy shit! Maybe it took the grand portion of the moment to decide that yeah, hugging her was probably a thing he could do too, but he'd at least hurry as quick as he could to the knowledge that he could nuzzle in a little either way.    


But like every motherfuckin moment so far, this one would be over too soon for his liking as well. Funny how that kept on happening when all of the rest of forever was the ideal time for this kind of thing to last. It was almost like he was setting himself up for disappointment or something. Damn.    


Having been let go of, Kurloz would go ahead and sign that this and everything else had been nice--though nice wasn't strong enough either, as weakness of words was apparently spreading like wildfire in recent times-- but... He'd find himself halting in his signing--and 'yes' was a damned simple sign, awful hard to not finish for fuck's sake-- and instead reaching a hand towards Kanaya, only to falter and put his hand down. Be it from the fall or from the impromptu embrace, it looked like some of the girl's hair had gotten a smidgen out of place. He wanted only to get it back to its rightful place, but hair touching was also kind of an intimate thing and he didn't want to offend her with the notion that he of all trolls had any place straightening up anyone else's hair. Of course, they'd already shared in plenty of other intimate moments and it probably looked really stupid to reach towards her only to change his mind. So he'd get over it, reach out once more, and fix a couple of locks that distinctly weren't doing the same things that they'd been doing before. Of course, the restlessness of 'maybe she doesn't want you messing with her hair none' would happen and the movement that was meant to just move bangs into their proper place would linger a little too long, trail down until it was more just brushing her cheek rather than tidying up stray hair. He should've went back to keeping his hands to himself, being done with what he'd intended to do, but he'd wind up cupping her face just as gentle as he could.    


There was just something about being so close that wanted to banish whatever intelligent part of him he had left into a daze. Not enough of a daze to let him never realize he was no longer acting solely to be useful--not that he needed to be or had particularly started in the first place-- but... Right. He'd maintain the same gentleness in surpassing the dazed feeling, retracting his hand rather than leaning back in which sounded like a good idea somewhere in his head that logic couldn't reason with. He'd be slow about it, wouldn't want to be sudden and have her all losing her balance or anything, after all. Maybe avoiding eye contact wasn't very much a sign of anger, but it certainly attested to embarrassment, and he sure as all fiery hell was feeling embarrassment right about then. His hands would return to resting by his sides, then would instead be held behind his back as though he was some wriggler who couldn't be trusted to not touch what oughtn't be touched.    


He would've assumed that he would've not felt so embarrassed to share a moment or two like that if he wasn't currently unpainted, but he already had and it just wasn't true. Couldn't even hold hands earlier without being all showing colors under paint and now... Shit. Fuck, now there was no hiding such colors. Not that there was hope of coming off as somewhere halfway dignified and /not/ completely lost in the affections of a quadrant he should've known better than she did about, but still! This was past pathetic and he'd once thought himself to be nowhere near pathetic.    


Sometimes he sought enlightenment on shit that wasn't essential to know, but he couldn't help but feel like he could've gone all the rest of his afterlife without knowing that he'd be so soon to get so pathetic so fast and to such an extent. Worst thing of it was that, in a way, he didn't even care. Kanaya had already caught him at so many pathetic points, and yet she was sticking around. Had it been a bother, surely he would've tried to get better about not being so damned pathetic, but as of now? Attempts were both vague and fruitless. Vague and fruitless and he didn't even have enough shame to keep avoiding eye contact, did he? If this was what normal pale feelings were like, then he had no idea how moirails even functioned. Didn't know how anyone could function with one, and couldn't understand how anyone could function without. Whether he sought an answer to that conundrum or not, it didn't seem one easily answered. Oh well. There were many conundrums to worry about being in, and this wasn't feeling very much like one anymore.   


Kanaya’s own thoughts had been set ablaze as she scoured the grass for his paints. Though some part of her was just feeling about, Feeling until there wasn’t much left under her hands but pebbles and dirt, right brushing his paints even more to the side. It was awful, being so foolish like this. Kanaya had never been good at navigating others, try as she might to be, but it would always fall through. Nothing seemed to go right when she would try to have it that way. Fumbling for the paints that’d been knocked farther from her hands, Kanaya can’t help but to flounder about, pitying herself. She too, like Kurloz, wondered just how trolls could even handle being so engrossed in such soft feelings that made one downright /dumb/. Warm and wonderful and thoughtful and just flat out stupid.    


With a deep breath, Kanaya had managed to find it in herself enough to finally grab the rolling canister. It was a silly thought, but was it bad for his pain to roll around like this? Maybe it would get unsettled, or the consistency would change, or- no, no that’s idiotic. Instead of dwell, Kanaya shakes off the thought and takes ahold of the white jar as well, her hands each in possession of their own colors. Alright. Now that that was done, she had to work up the nerve to turn back to Kurloz. She washed his paint off, damn it, and she couldn’t just scuttle off now and leave him to do the work himself after she said she wanted to do it. Hell, this wouldn’t even have been a thing if she didn’t upset him so much before!   


And yet, she remembers, she was forgiven. Forgiven enough for him to press his forehead to hers. It struck her, then, she wished she could know what was going through his head. What /is/ going through his head. In the end, rather than determination, curiosity outwon Kanaya’s embarrassment. Paints in hand, she turns back around to look back to Kurloz, his hand right up near her face. It was then that she noticed him almost flinch back, only to move in again.   


W-what was this? Kanaya was frozen, completely still as she watches his hand. She wasn’t scared, of course not, but part of her was worried for some unbeknownst reason. Still hovering a moment, his hand finally brushes her cheek, causing her to blush something awful. His hand was cool, even through gloves that the Capricorn may or may not have been wearing.   


It was wonderful, udderly and terribly wonderful. She didn’t even so much as flinch away, and upon staying where she was,  Kurloz then held her cheek rather than just give it a single, thoughtful stroke. Kanaya’s whole body felt warm, her pupils dilating as an overwhelming sense of happiness, placidness, struck her down. Slow as he was in pulling away, the sylph was not yet ready for it, and she’d been gently leaning into his touch again. There were no awkward falls this time, no almost-hurt feelings. Just an all encompassing calm that brought a content smile to Kanaya’s face. In Kurloz’ time touching Kanaya, her eyes had fell shut, but they fluttered back open as soon as he revoked his touch. 

His own face had flushed up something terrible, the first real time she’d seen his blush too. Kanaya wondered just how much she’d made him blush, and how much she didn’t see it under that second skin of his before. Rather than dwell on it, as Kurloz sat on his hands, Kanaya leaned in once more, closing the distance between them again. This time she had no doubts, she was going to stop apologizing. It was clear Kurloz was just as entangled in this as she was, so why act as if he wasn’t? She pressed a single kiss to his purple burned cheek, and then another, and then another because wow she just couldn’t help herself. Her mime, hers, what an odd thought… Was just so lovely.    


“We are going to have a terrible time communicating if you sit on your hands like that.” She pointed out, pulling back away as she sets the gray paint down, white jar still in hand as she uncaps it. She was certain this was the first coat to go on.    


But it was just then, as she was about to begin, that she realized that there had been a few marks from her lips left behind. Oh, dear, of course that would happen. She takes the cloth from before, a clean edge, and wiped his cheek clean. There, she smiles to herself, nodding her head. A perfect, clear canvas.   


Dipping her finger into the white, Kanaya then streaks it along Kurloz’ forehead, leaving behind an even coat. She had a really good feeling about this, which hopefully wouldn’t betray her. Though, perhaps she should have asked, made sure she was doing it right. It wasn’t like any brushes had come flying from his sylladex, but they'd just leave streaks behind anyway.   


Everything else seemed so distant, so insignificant in comparison to this time shared. Had he possessed the ability to speak the words to describe what he felt, it still seemed like it wouldn't be enough. Wouldn't ever be enough. Words enough to paint pictures, words pretty as flowers, words straight from hearts that had grown alight, and it still wouldn't be on par. 'Pale' didn't seem strong enough a word. This was some next level shit that he'd never before dealt with and couldn't imagine ever dealing with again. Hell, he wasn't even dealing with it so much as it was dealing with him. For all intents and purposes, he was struggling. Only struggling wasn't even the right word for it. He was perfectly content in just how things were. Save for not being bounded to her by a quadrant, he'd not change much of anything. The innermost callings screaming at him to be gone, move past what seemed mighty motherfucking strong to be called a crush anymore, and get on with his afterlife as he'd always done had long since been quieted by soothe he had no right to feel. He had to wonder if he'd feel at all bad if he wasn't putting forth such an odd effort to feel just that. Did it even count if he was having to /make/ himself recall just how far off kilter in the wrong he was?    


Probably didn't even count anyways either way. The conviction to feel Lord-forsaken awful on it had abandoned him for brighter horizons. The downright awful feelings that'd been threatening to tear a hole clean through his bloodpusher for all the heavy pain of the sorrows of what could've been and what was instead were naught but a barely recalled memory. More like the hazy remembrance of a nightmare that was bad but not his worst, or like that feeling wherein there was definitely something to be done, but all specifics on just what were hidden away like fugitives. Those recollections much like the recollections of pains that were only so damned recent seemed now so unreal. Unreal like maybe other selves with lesser lives were weathering the worst of it instead of him. It just... It was such the sweetest nicety to be just /there/, but how long would that go on for? He couldn't keep her there forever. Or fuck, maybe he could. He thought before that he couldn't be one of those heaps of filth that sought pale comforts outside of the confines made for such comforts, and yet here he was. Would be just as blessed easy to keep her there forever as it would be to strike her down. Much like the second, he had unflinchingly strong convictions to not do the first either. There was no amount of certainty placed into having the modesty to not pose inquiry on prospects of maybe another visit, wouldn't even have to be anything pale, just... There was no part of the prospect of never seeing her again that didn't cause some degree of hurt that just had no chance of an easy mend. Damned be all, how long had it been since last his feelings were so strewn about? He'd known mirth like this, he'd known its antonym just as bad as would be to come in departure, but... This was downright mirthmorose. Maybe he was still more of a fussy highblood than he liked to admit.    


Lightest of embarrassment over being called out for sitting on his hands faded into nothing short of lightheartedness. Once upon a time he would've been giggling like a fool over the barrage of kisses he received for nothing beyond existing, feeling as sweet for her as she was right back. Maybe he wasn't so fussy after that. Even with colors offsetting gray complexion and being all amounts warmer than they had any right to be, it wasn't the kind of blush meant to shame, meant to belittle, meant to usher in further misery of thought or feeling. Okay, perhaps there was a bit of embarrassment that just couldn't be shaken off Consistency was different and all, felt undeniably different, but... Well, a multitude of lipstick marks helped him regain a bit of the comfort that'd been washed clean away with his former paint. Close as they were growing to one another, that'd just have to be one of those little trivial facets that'd be his and his only to know. Further beyond would be the knowing that he maybe could've put off socialization, namely the proper painting that would've made as much possible, if he'd been left suddenly with only proof of kisses to remember her by. Not forever, he wasn't /that/ pathetic; but certainly for a while. Maybe not pathetic, but nearly too far gone any motherfucking ways. He'd be fine though. Much as he hated the thought of it, there /would/ be a period of grieving loss of her company after she left, be that after ten seconds or ten sweeps. He vividly recalled there being a saying about there being a time to laugh and a time to cry, and he seemed awfully caught up in the crying type times mostly. Mourning loss of one he didn't have in the first motherfucking place was stupid, but it'd be stupider to not prepare for that form of mourning when it undoubtedly would happen. He'd fallen so far for her already, and here he was letting her do his paint on top of it all. It would've been for the best to stop this all now, but on went the first streaks of paint and it'd be too late to back out now even if he wanted to and Lord help him, he didn't.    


The ordeal of being painted up by... Fuck, not even by proper brushes, just by the brush of her fingers-- it was-- he didn't even know what it was. To an extent, it brought on the kind of anxiousness that went along with leaving something so important to one he knew he shouldn't have felt like was alright to leave to, the kind of restlessness that went along with not knowing if--when, /when/ he'd face his due consequences for not being the one to renew his show of faith, and to be all showing his face without its proper whites and grays... Fuck, he couldn't go back to dwelling on that shit. Not now, not when traces of fear were already picking themselves up by their bootstraps so as to keep fighting the good fight. Of course, it would always be hard to not be ever-at-odds with those thoughts. Not that they stopped something less akin to nervousness and moreso to thrill from being a thing. Paint in the way or not, the touches were no less gentle and able to bring about peace. Paint might as well have been electricity though. Maybe it was. Who'd know with how his hair already liked to stand somewhere close to on end? He felt more awake, only that was putting it lightly and there were still aspects of relaxation that wanted to dull whatever this feeling was. Maybe it was adrenaline, maybe it was fear, maybe it was something that wasn't so motherfucking awful to have. Was almost the strength of previous desires brought about by fight or flight type instinctual callings, but he had no want to fight or fly. Clichéd as it was to even think, it'd been a long time since he felt this alive. Had been a long time since he felt this much of anything really. Kurloz considered himself to be many things, but of the kind to reminisce over lost feelings wasn't one of such considerations. Perhaps it was time for a reevaluation. A reevaluation and perhaps some kind of grand scale revelation on just how best to be all dealing with the nows and the laters of it all.    


Was too much to ask for, being a reevaluator and a revelator just right then though apparently. Mind racing just as fast as it could, yet it wasn't getting anyplace. In the end, that was likely just as well. Way things were going, any decision would be rash and regrettable. The troll would've sent a thought of gratitude up to the Lord for letting his silence be most vital asset, preventing him from speaking whatever mixed emotion type thoughts would surely have made him seem at least half out his mind. It wasn't good to be unable to commit to one answer or another, and yet he could only be wholehearted about his answer that he just wasn't so motherfuckin certain on anything at that point in time.    


Committing to a clear-cut side would come later. Right now he'd just do the logical thing-- sit as deathly still as he could while Kanaya helped him to look and maybe even feel more like he ought've been. Well, maybe not feel. All the riddles of the world hadn't prepared him on solving the answer on just how he was supposed to be feeling. Should've felt the most appalled a brother could get when his face was washed off without even a warning, maybe he remotely had been for a minute, but beyond that? Nah. Of course, the washing had its roots in want for her to stick around and continued company to satisfy something empty and broken that he hadn't known he'd been sporting in the first place, and that all had its roots in soils he needn't tread on anymore. No, no, he knew where all the problems lay. Turning it over and over again thinking about it just wasn't working any miracles on it. Couldn't think it all away any more than he could ignore it until it went away. Was too damn inflexible and real and wrong.    


And here it was feeling all too out there and dreamlike and right as rain in a drought. What'd he do if anybody found out? Wasn't any way of covering up just what all this was if anybody was to mosey along. Not that anybody /would more likely than not, but still. What if? He couldn't keep up with the current, pleasant situation. What'd he do if it took any kind of turn for the worse?    


He... He wanted--not wanted, /definitely/ not wanted--/needed/ to prepare for those kinds of possibilities. If just one found out, then a little bit of forgetfulness could be in order. Wouldn't be hard to take care of a sole witness before word got out and reached his poor moirail. Of course, then there was the part about instillation of forgetfulness coming along with the show of lights that surely wouldn't leave any kind of pleasant impression upon Kanaya, and he'd already vowed to not do any manner of messing with her head. If he broke that vow, then what'd stop him from ever having a glimmer of truth and honor about him ever again?    


It was too hard not knowing what to do. He didn't like it. Wouldn't be able to stand it if he could focus on it more fully or had the full desire too, but he didn't really. Between focus on the bad shifting to and fro, trying to keep relative calm about it, not needing to keep relative calm about it because of the warm of her fingers and the cool of the paint being so calming by itself, and yet the foreign thrill of it being different than just the previous soothing gestures meant to halt tears.    


There was no way to make her know the same feeling. Not without doing the kinds of meddling that he refused to do. He... He almost could've... 

Kissed her.    


Not with paint getting reapplied! Not with his stitches being the rough textured monstrosities that they were, but... Holy shit, that was a weird thing to want to do. Sure, Kanaya had given many a kiss, and it wasn't like any of hers or the thought of giving one of his own were poisoned with any manner of red feelings, but still. He didn't give kisses anymore. No more than he showed his face.    


...He'd went ahead and nuzzled her forehead, had stroked her cheek, but he was just gonna... Think on this one a little while longer, see if the feeling didn't pass. Why'd rationality have to turn rogue, leave him for dead like that? He should've been rejoicing in the intimacy of this moment moreso than he had in any of the others or at least feeling properly awful about it, and yet all he could do was try not to fidget and screw up the work Kanaya was doing. Moving off of his hands had only left him able to put them behind his back, stop, start twiddling his thumbs, and so on and so forth for what felt like an eternity. What was worse was that he surely was showing inklings of unrest in expression too. He needed to cut that right the fuck out before he made Kanaya think that his looking less-than-his-former-jubilant was any fault of her own. Maybe it'd be best to not do any measure of thinking for a while. Just sit there and chill, stop fidgeting, just relax. Wasn't like he was expected to be saying anything. So he'd just sit there, fail at not fidgeting, fail at not thinking, fail at relaxing because mother fucking fuck everything the want to return a kiss, some grand gesture, /anything/ wasn't passing him by.    


That was settled. He'd have to do /something/ for her before she had to leave, damn whatever time that actually happened. That would be the only right--only fair thing he could do. The fuck did one give to a non-moirail who was acting as a moirail though? Perhaps a nice card. 'Thanks for being nice to me, a dumbass. The time we shared was weird but also warm and fuzzy? -Love Kurloz.' Yeah, that was great. Truly fanfuckingtastic. He'd totally do that if the thought of taking a long walk off a short cliff didn't sound just slightly more tasteful. Maybe he'd mull that one on over too.   
****  
  


It was hard to figure things out. Things of where gray shapes would go, where fingers should make path to next, and just what to be making of- of fidgeting?   


There was a lapse in time, however, that Kanaya hadn’t so much as noticed the change of expression on Kurloz’ face. The drain of lovely purple colors was an afterthought to the paint she was covering his face with. Nuance of expression was hard to discern when one’s just so *terribly* enthralled in feeling. Feelings of thick paint smoothing out under ocher fingers, feelings of soft skin on a free hand, used to steady Kurloz by the chin.  Not that Kanaya didn’t trust him to stay still, and not that she hadn’t been careful enough as to not jostle him around in the first place, far from it! But rather an excuse to keep in splendid contact. If there was one thing Kanaya was terrible at, it was letting go. Literally, it would seem, and yet she was as gentle as ever. Vigilant as she’d been not to harm the Capricorn’s stitches, quick as she’d been not to let him fall in her own dumb for shit mistake of leaning in too much, and even now with how conscientious she’d been in taking care of his lovely face. Deliberate and attentive, one in the same.   


Stroking of fingers, maybe stoking of lucks fires as well, every last glide of digit-kind had begotten even coats of white. Smears and globs had been neither here nor there, and the Virgo would die, and ‘double die’, to keep it that way. She’d do her best to get his mask as pristine as he’d gotten it himself, and hopefully she’d be able to keep from making him feel the need to get his hands covering up his face again.    


Thinking back on it now, Kurloz’ hiding seemed so far away, like it happened both an eternity and moments ago. Maybe it was something about the bubbles, something about how time, space, and all her threads would cross over one another until they knot and fray. Almost as if chronology itself was out of place, and everything was happening out of order, exactly like it was meant to. Like this was all a lifetime of emotions and happenstance, melted together into one instance, simply because time didn’t know what the hell to do with itself. Maybe this was why things felt so familiar, how this all fell into place so smoothly and fast in such a rocky, painfully slow movement. Perhaps they were both just a temporal paradox begging to happen. Waiting, and itching to travel along the fourth dimension at full speed.    


It was just like that, Kanaya was almost finished with the base foundation for- for “A masterpiece.” She whispered to herself, not even so much as realizing she’d said such a thing out loud. And- and what? Oh, oh no! Fidgeting Kanaya’d forgotten about for who knows how long. Terribly uncomfortable, Kurloz seemed. Uneasy, like his mind was racing with thoughts, pondering himself into a tizzy. Or something like it. With one last stroke to Kurloz face, her thumb both finished off the first half of the job, and acted as an attempt to get him to heckin’ relax. The prince’d already cried, and there was no way the sylph was going to let him tread those waters again! Hell, even if it’d been for the sheer fact he just flat out didn’t know what to /do/ with himself when she had to be so careful, he seemed much too uneasy for it to be about simple idling.    


And taking her hands from that face, Kanaya soon set to wiping her hands clean on the cloth next to her lap. Soon there after she closed the first jar of paint, setting it to the side, and reached for the ash colored canister. And, despite herself, the young Maryam had to bring herself to finish up the job. With the sound of plastic sliding along glass, the jar soon opened with a clear ‘pop’ sound, one that had actually been quite pleasant. If it wouldn’t make her seem like a complete fool, she might have even capped it, just to reopen it and have a small moment of enjoyment to herself again. And in the time she spent thinking on that route, she’d already dipped cleaned fingers into the paint, mixing everything together even if it all had been rather unsettled from rolling along the ground before. Oh, wow that was embarrassing… And, just as Kurloz had seen Kanaya make a dunce of herself, hopefully he’d account for her atonement.    


Is that what this was, an aby? Each stroke of her fingers around and under his eyes, a mere expiate?    


Of course not.   


Sorry as she felt for wrongdoings, hard feelings, and as much as Kurloz had already shown her acceptance and forgiveness, Kanaya wanted to do this just as much as she wanted to spend forever and a day feeling so terribly smitten, so sickly wonderful, and so horribly… Pale. And it sparked. It just sparked, right then and there that guilt and any doubt washed out from under her hands. With each line of gray went her griefs, not unto Kurloz, oh heavens no, but certainly not *here*.    


And with goggles of gray around his eyes, soon steady fingers were contouring cheek bones, ones that Kanaya just wanted to hold in her hands again, even it it met she had to do this all over again. No, not even had to, so much as had the blessing to do this again. But she wasn’t about to put Makara through that, not with how he still seemed to awkwardly shuffle. “I’m almost done.” She assured.   


Soon his cheek was filled, and the last section of his countenance was being colored, however slowly, as Kanaya held a single finger under the unpainted sling curve of his jaw. Gentle, she’d cock his head off to the side just a little more, his hair falling away with the motion. And with a wide, slow drag of her index, everything was set. His paint was even, clean, and done to a ‘T’ of what she remembered seeing. The word ‘perfect’ may have been a bit much, but Maryam was happy with her work, and she’d only wished she’d had a mirror to show him.    


Hell, she’d been looking into his face for so long now that she hadn’t been admiring her work so much as she’d been simply taking him in. The silence, least not for the sylph, was absent. She was content in the moment, and so hoped that that same placidness was shared by her company. With the thought, her thumb stroked under his jaw again, no longer pushing his head up, so hopefully it fell back into a relaxed position. The kind where he was level with her, the kind where if she were just close enough…   


That she’d find out it wasn’t like kissing the girl she’d been waxing ‘red’ for. It was a lot warmer, safer. An odd juxtaposition in a way.   


Apposed to the outright blissful high spilling through her veins, the stitches were rough. They were coarse, and she didn’t mind the slightest. So less so, that her eyes had fallen shut in mere seconds, if she’d even pressed her lips to his for that long. That was when his flesh pressed between the thread. Between the thread, and against Kanaya’s with the /tiniest/ bit of pressure she’d held to his skin.    


The whole time she’d held her breath. Held her breath and closed her eyes and just waited for a reaction. when it hit. This was a thing she’d done, this was a *real* moment no matter how dreamlike, and it would have consequences. And with the urge to pull away, came back that memory. That sudden flash of lights, and paints send flying, and the tears that erupted from the suddenness of it all.   


If Kanaya moved, would that be the risk, frightening him? As if this wasn’t already a horrible mistake. But, instead of risking anymore, Kanaya remembered to fucking /breathe/ right then, slowly through her nose. She remained still, the seconds ticking by until one of them would just- do something. Anything she could do now would be too, terribly sudden in her mind, but she knew they couldn’t very well stay like this forever. Mostly, as time passed, it would bring thoughts like the paint that must be covering her lips now, how the hair on her neck was standing on end from nerves, how /still/ she’d been, her finger still hooked under Kurloz’ jaw from where Kanaya had studied the finished result. She’d pull her hand away from him, just a bit to actually let him go if that’s what would happen.

It was with her easing that griefs and guilt were starting to creep back, ever so slowly.


End file.
